Capitol Intent
by the yellow flower
Summary: A man fighting to gain ultimate power, a woman trying to survive through tragedy. Two unlikely souls in Washington D.C. and cross uncharacteristically through music. Phantom characters based in House Of Cards universe. Rated T for adult topics & words. Part One & Two are complete!
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes**

 **Note One:** **I'M BAAAAAAAACK!** Okay so I have almost the entirety of Part One for this story finished (about 150 pages) and I plan on updating as regularly as possible. When chapters get short (4,000 words or less) I'll update twice a week. Having re-read some of my previous stories and seeing how I've grown as a writer, I can't help but be proud of my progress in the last 10 years on Fanfiction. That said, I can only hope that you like what I have to offer here :)

 **Note Two:** I'm looking for a **Beta** who will help me stay consistent with details within the story. Any takers? I'd be grateful!

 **Note Three:** This story will be **a light cross over between a modern Phantom Of The Opera and House Of Cards.** I say light because this story is much more Phantom based than it is House of Cards. Basically, I took POTO characters and put them into a Washington D.C. world. **Major Note** : This will not will not will NOT be about politics! Yes, Erik will be a democrat, but that is basing it off of HOC. This is a story about relationships, not politics.

 **Note Four:** There will be a lot of shout outs to my old stomping grounds and favorite places. **Obviously, I don't own any of these places or locations**. If anyone does and wants me to change the name, you're welcome to call me out and I will do so. I just can't help, but praise the places I love! I lived up there for two years and had a load of fun. It is a really cool place and served as great inspiration. Many of the ideas that are in this story came from me walking down the street or going to and from work. To anyone who thinks Washington is all politics and museums, well, it mostly is, BUT there is so much more to do and see than just that!

 **Note Five:** I do not own any characters in this tale, from either side of the cross over.

 **Finally! Please read and review. I can't wait to hear your thoughts!**

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 **Chapter One**

He stood rigidly, staring out the window of his office without seeing much before him. This would remain his office after all. There would be no moving up in the scheme of things, only sideways. This view, where he over looked a parking lot that tourists got lost in when getting off the Capitol South Metro Station, would be the rein he would experience for another four years and possibly longer.

"Dammit," The grip on his bourbon tightened making the ice clash into all sides, "Goddammit."

The shrill double beep of his office phone went off and nearly made him break the glass into shards. He was certain he told his secretary to hold all calls for at least another hour. He needed time to think. Reluctantly he picked up the phone and spit, "Yes?" into the receiver.

The low alto voice of his seasoned employee answered, "My apologies sir, the future president is on the other line."

"Great." He seethed through his teeth.

"Would you like me to put him through?"

His pause was so long that he he heard his secretary take a sharp inhale.

"No," he finally said.

"But," She stumbled a little, "It's the-"

An audible sigh came from him. This was not worth getting into a discussion with her about again, "Yes, yes, I know. Put him through."

There was a click on the line and he knew the call had been switched, "Good afternoon Mr. _Future_ President."

"Hey there Erik," came a clear well known voice on the other line, "I just wanted to call and check in with you myself."

"How _kind_."

"Come on Erik, it's just as Carla explained to you. We need you as whip right now. The House is almost divided in half and the Senate… I feel I don't need to explain any of this to you. The system is a mess. We need someone as strong as you to whip those votes to where we need them. I wanted you to play a key part in this education bill. Will you help us? I understand you didn't want to answer this afternoon, so I wanted to talk to you myself. You know this isn't just me, it's the entire party here, the entire House really."

Throughout this exchange, which was seeming far more like a planned speech than anything close to a phone discussion, Erik Underwood continued to watch the scene outside his window. A homeless man appeared to be chanting something to himself. A Korean family of four was scurrying away from him while still managing to take a few pictures of the Library of Congress as they approached it. Two men in suites talked with coffee in their hands. Security guards raised and lowered parking gates for large black SUVs. Nothing of interest out there. Nothing new.

"Erik? You still there?"

"Of course, Richard, ah, my apologies, Mr. President. It's an old habit to break." In reality, that was an intentional move. He had played a key part in Richard Walker's presidential campaign with the understood exchange of becoming Secretary of State.

"Well, I haven't been sworn in yet…Look, I know what I said. And you would have made an excellent Secretary of State, absolutely excellent, but when I look at who is the strongest where and what will be the most useful for everyone. Erik, you'll stay on as whip, won't you? We need you, we absolutely need you here."

It was tempting to growl through his gritted teeth. It would have been so easy, really. The outright lie and betrayal that he had gone through in such a short amount of time for all of the sleepless nights he had spent for this man and for this blow, Richard couldn't even deliver it himself. In the back of his mind, he always knew that Richard was intimidated by him, but to pull something like this was beyond what he had imagined.

While this was a fall back, it was not a fall out. Underwood was sure that with the introduction of the education bill that he would find himself well wound with the power again. Just a little more scratching of backs, just a little more whips in a direction that would benefit him. Sure, he would have to fool that all of it was out of the selfless benefit of the party, but no, he would figure out just how to make things change in his favor and Richard Walker would be just the one to plummet from this stab in the back.

The homeless man was attempting to pee on the four foot wall that surrounded the parking lot. Two security guards were now rushing his way, yelling with their batons in the air. The homeless man ran away, a trail of filth following his sagging pants and old tennis shoes. Erik's eyes narrowed and he took a deep breath to calm himself before answering, "You can count on me, Mr. President. I'd be happy to serve my country and party as your whip."

The voice that greeted him was a little less burdened, but still uneasy, "Thank you Erik. And it's not Mr. President yet."

"Right. Anything else you need from me?"

"Not immediately." A sigh of relief was heard in Erik's ear, "Thank you Erik."

"Have a good evening."

"You do the same."

Erik's eyes never left the window as he lowered the phone to hang up. The homeless man was gone. The security team was back at their posts. Everything was back to normal. The sun was just behind the government buildings and people were beginning to hug their jackets a little closer to their chests. There would be a new president soon, a new cabinet, a new city and Erik was not simply going to stand by this window and let it form unless he had a direct hand in it all.

Throwing the last of the bourbon into his throat, he set the glass down with a sharp thud as it hit the wood. No, it did not break. Erik would not let any part around him break unless it was intentional to his cause. Despite every hardship in his life, beyond half of his face being beyond repair and his family life nonexistent, there was power within his reach, true unorthodox power, and he would have it. He would have it all.

Christine pushed her reading glasses back up her nose once she realized her head was drooping again. It had been another long day at the office. There had been a new wave of interns that had to be trained to answer phone calls and emails as the last interns had to be fired. She wondered how these kids were being found. Was it really a temp agency from Philadelphia? Or was it Pittsburg? Or worse…was it Washington D.C. Craigslist? She needed to talk with who had been doing the hiring. It certainly had not been her. The havoc she had to go through in the past week alone just to sort through all of the mistakes that had been made was outrageous and she had grown accustomed to a large work load working for Raoul Peters.

It wasn't simply the work load now, it was the relationship. Every day she kept looking over her shoulder to see if anyone in the office could guess that something beyond the professional was going on between her and her House of Representative employer. There seemed to be no ruckus…at least yet. Besides, the office well knew how important she was to the progress and smoothly run climate that was being created. She never guessed to have been in this circumstance, but there it was.

There was a tap on the door making her look up tiredly. Biting back a yawn she called, "Come in,"

Raoul slipped through the door, hastily closing it behind him, "Hello gorgeous," he said crossing the distance to her desk and placing a coffee on her desk.

She made a double take to the door to be sure it was completely closed, "Don't worry, I shut it," he added.

"We still need to be cautious." She replied taking the coffee, "What is this?"

"It's a double shot dirty pumpkin pie chai from Ebenezer's. Just how you like it. Though it looks like they're training over there too, so I hope it's just as good as usual."

Christine made a hasty grab for the cup, looking especially forward to the extra shot of espresso "You went all the way there? This is perfect!"

"Well," he leaned his weight on her desk, "one of the interns did. They're still learning the town so I paid their taxi bill. They seemed more useful outside the office than in it."

The sweet aroma went straight from her nose and warmed her entire being just a little bit and the taste of the spices on her tongue made her want to curl up in her chair right there and go to sleep.

"This week has been an absolute mess, Raoul. Can we vacation yet?"

Raoul sighed and seemed to be suddenly far away, "Vacation where?"

"An island where no one else is."

Still looking away from her he answered stiffly, "I'll look into it in a few weeks. It would be better for you to stay on at least a year before we start vacationing together."

Christine sighed and looked down at her drink, pushing away being the closet girlfriend forever feeling a little bit farther into the back of her mind, "You're right, you're right."

He turned to her and said casually, "You know Walker announced his cabinet today?"

"Oh right," another glorious sip that made many things better already, "Any surprises?"

"Erik Underwood wasn't in it."

The cup lowered from her lips only slightly before following through with another sip, "Really?"

"They're keeping him as whip."

"Wow…God I would never want to cross that man. Do you know how he took it?"

"As professional as always. You know how he is with making a good" Raoul put a hand over half his face "face for himself."

Christine scowled a little, "Raoul don't do that. Come on, you know it's mean."

"I'm just joking. I mean, goddamn, what that man has done for himself is incredible. Using that as a strength in his campaign, all that talk about, what was is? 'The disability is not in my face, but this nation' stuff. Pretty ingenious, huh?"

"I've read…did you forget I'm twenty-five? I wasn't so interested in politics back then and no one has seriously run against him in how long?"

"Years. I wish I didn't have to worry about campaigns! What hell. They don't call him the Phantom of Washington for nothing. How else could he manage to whip so many votes? Though…he still has his flaws. I, being one of the youngest senators around, doesn't hurt. I can't believe I'm only thirty-two. And I still have my hair." On cue he ran a hand through his dirty blonde hair and smiled at the feel.

Christine smiled and rolled her eyes a little. He always brought that up when he was feeling intimidated of things, but he had to have known he must have been the most attractive man in congress. Those aspects really helped him out on television and other marketing ploys. He had been the under dog of his race, young, excited, and with a publicly spotless track record. A small frown formed in her eyes at the thought, _If only they knew._ Some things even his pretty face couldn't get him out of.

"Hey, two more hours of work and I'll pick you up from your place at eight. How's that sound? We'll order Chinese."

"I'm sorry Raoul, I can't tonight. I'm staying in with Meg's dog while she's in Canada, remember?"

His hand inched across the desk to hers and touched it lightly, "I could come over there too you know."

She laughed at the thought. Raoul didn't even know what the U Street neighborhood really was beyond the clubs, let alone the studios one could find in the nooks and crannies of old buildings. And Meg was surviving alone in the city. Her place would be no good for him. Not to mention she didn't want to have to deal with Meg if she ever found out.

"You know how Meg is," she smiled slyly with her eyes, "It's amazing enough that she can keep this secret while working at the Harold. Let's not push it."

He sighed, "Fine, fine you're right. Here," he pushed himself off the desk reluctantly, "I'll get out of here and let you keep herding the mistakes out of the email chains." As he was closing in on the door, before opening it he winked charmingly and mouthed, "I love you."

Christine smiled and rolled her eyes again after blowing him a kiss. This was getting harder to hide. At least no one had looked up their back story. If they had, it was all too obvious that they had shared relations before, no matter how platonic they once were. Meg was a savior every day she kept her mouth closed.

Erik sat with his Chief of Staff, Douglas Nadir, in a relatively quiet booth in the back of Capitol Grill. A perfect steak sat before him, a glass of rare red wine lay lightly in his hand. Nadir's gaze was out on the people before him, checking to see any interesting changes in body languages from the wealthy, politically powerful, and CEO's that were just beyond them. On occasion he had to keep others from speaking with Erik when at the cramped space, as many of them usually had issues to discuss. Security sat just outside as usual.

Today, no one was moving to their table. Today, no one wanted to catch Erik in anything close to a fowl mood.

"How is your sister, Doug?"

His eye brow rose before answering, "Fine. Second marriage now. She's in Turkey visiting the family again." He took a sip of his wine, "She'll figure out eventually that they don't like her as much as she thinks they do. I don't mind that our mother was a white Catholic, but damn do they. I prefer Washington where seeing a Middle Eastern man in Western clothes is a boring normality."

Erik laughed a little, "How old is she again?"

"Twenty-nine. It's hard believing she's my sister sometimes. God when did I get this old?"

"You're no older than me," Erik added a little wistfully.

"You still have all your hair."

"I'd rather have my face."

Nadir stole a glance at his thin form-fitting white mask. Before his election into congress he wore one that was closer to his pale skin tone. It was still a mask, but it wasn't as obvious then. Now, the white mask had become so much of his being that if he stepped out without it, people wouldn't believe it was him. It was a rarity when Erik mentioned his face at all, let alone bitterly. Now that the campaigns were over, he was content to try and believe people didn't look at it in distraction. Still, on days that had hard blows, Nadir knew that it was only a matter of time before he went into a self deprecating mode.

The rest of their dinner was kept to lighter subjects. Nothing of value would be whispered in a place like Capitol Grill. The only reason they were there in the first place was to put on a good face (Erik had cackled with Douglas had used that particular term). The steak and the wine were finished and security took them back to Erik's car where they could now talk in peace. After buckling up and sealing the window between them and the driver, Erik let his head fall to the seat behind him with a heavy sigh.

"Glad that bullshit is over."

"You know it helped." Nadir added, his hands crossed in his lap.

"I know… Well, it's time to move on then, isn't it?"

"You have a plan." It wasn't a question. If he knew anything about his employer, he always had a plan.

"We need to climb higher, and faster to keep up," Erik said softly to the ceiling, "We need a war and we'll need pawns to fight for me."

"And what would be the outcome of this war if you win?"

"The 2020 election for presidency. Enough to this servitude to lairs and thieves. I must be the ultimate choice for the Democratic party."

"So you're saying we need to make sure that enough happens for the party to nominate you over Walker in four years?"

"Precisely. Before this I was very willing to wait in the cabinet, I was very willing to bide my time elsewhere, but now… Walker has done this to himself. I'll scoop the floor out from under him."

"Then let's gather our troops."

Christine sat with a bowl of pop corn in one arm and a blonde cocker spaniel in the other. Having a Friday night to relax and focus on nothing but _Orange Is The New Black_ had been a long time coming. Her computer sat on the old coffee table before her in Meg's apartment and Christine welcomed the peace of not having to hear Raoul say during the show, "That's so hot. Christine…I know you're not into…but if you ever wanted to…You know….I'd so be okay with that."

The thought alone was enough to make her scowl. She wandered at times if she was in love with Senator Raoul Peters or still pining after the ignorance of a childhood crush. He had been much older than her when she met him first. After all, for children even two years difference seems huge. She had been twelve and living with her father as he played violin in an evening quartet in Cape Cod. All the workers were given housing that summer and as her mother had died a few years prior, where ever Charlie went, Christine would follow.

That had been the summer when pre-teen Christine had fallen in love with a handsome young life guard who was always falling asleep on the job. Every day she would sneak into the resort's pool and try to act mature enough for him to notice her. Back then he would play games with her, even flirt with her when no one was looking. On the last day of the summer she had built up enough courage to tell him she loved him, but just as she was waiting for him to come out of the locker room after his shift, she saw him leave with another girl on his arm. She was laughing loudly, her hair was messy, and her make up was smeared. She wore only a little bikini and Christine noticed that the bottom of the suite had been put on inside out. As Raoul cracked a smile and wiped his brow of sweat, he looked to where Christine was curled up on a beach chair.

He was her first love and her first broken heart. It took her a few years to stop stuffing her bra in hopes that she wouldn't miss a chance encounter and see her for more than just a little girl, but he was gone and she soon was too preoccupied with her father's failing health to think of much else.

That all seemed like ages ago and it was behind her. She sometimes wondered if the perfect prince she had first envisioned had been there at all. What if Raoul was always the same and she had been the one to change? He had been the one to seek after her when they were reunited in DC and that was by complete chance. Suddenly, she could be the pretty girl in the locker room, but only ever to stay there and never come out into the public eye. She admitted to herself that she had been lonely for some time when he met up with her again. The job was offered first as a way to get her back on her feet. She wasn't expected to rise through the ranks as well as she did. This even surprised Raoul. The relationship, the long talks after everyone had left the office, the "business" dinners, and eventually the nights sharing a bed were never meant to happen.

Christine had issues remembering what happiness looked like when she was faced with homelessness and hunger. Having basic needs being met were enough to make her feel she was doing something good for herself even if there was a part of her that was living a lie.

These thoughts were too deep for a Friday night. _Orange Is The New Black_ was much more interesting.

Underwood and Nadir drove around for much longer that night. They didn't like to speak at either of their homes. Erik was never much of a host and preferred to keep his work away from where he slept…when he slept anyway. By sometime after midnight they had come up with enough battle plans that Douglas was finally being dropped off at his meager row house located only a few blocks from Union Station.

"I believe this plan will work far better. Good night, Doug."

"Good night, boss."

With that, the car door had been slammed shut. Erik relaxed knowing that he was now on his way back to the only peace he knew of anywhere in the DMV area. Looking out the window he noticed a sea of orange barrels and rolled his eyes. This city was always under a plague of construction and it looked like the original short commute back to the Capitol Hill neighborhood would be lengthened by a good ten to twenty minutes. Now making their way down the H Street Corridor, Erik was sickened by the sheer mass of people that flooded the streets and bars. It used to be that no one would come here unless they were looking for a death with. Now, gentrification was winning its own battle.

Erik pushed the intercom to his driver, "Get off this street."

"Sorry sir," and with that the car turned down Sixth.

It wouldn't be long before he was home and he nearly closed his eyes, but not before catching a cop's lights flash at his window. A red sports car had been stopped and Erik squinted to see a little bit closer to see if he had in fact recognized the vehicle. Coming up on a park and afraid that he might lose his vision, Erik called to his driver again, "Circle this park once,"

"Yes sir,"

At first they had to go far away from the vehicle, but on turning around the traffic circle, Erik saw that the cop was taking a man out of the car. A clearly drunken Raoul Peters slid out and put his hand over his face as if to protect it from being seen. Seeing that he was now being put into hand cuffs, Erik smiled slightly as he took out his phone.

Pulling up the messages screen, Erik wrote, _We have our first pawn,_ and sent it to Nadir.

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 **A/N: Want to see some pictures of these places? Check out capitolintent DOT tumblr DOT com :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** A huge thank you to my solo reviewer from the last chapter ciaramarie1028! I've been so far removed from writing on FF that I've lost a lot of my readers over time. I hope you're liking this story enough to bite - I'd love to hear more feedback if you can spare a second to review!

Remember if you'd like to check out some pictures of the places mentioned in this chapter, check out tumblr dot come back slash capitolintent

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 **Chapter Two**

The sound of something crackling against wood woke Christine. Reaching drowsily over to the lit screen of her phone and taking in the unpleasant dog breath of Cloe who yawned widely in her face, she unconsciously chose to receive the call from a number she didn't recognize. A computer recording of a half-way pleasant female voice reached her ear.

"This is a call from the Zone Five Police Station. Press 1 to accept this call or hang up to decline it."

Immediately becoming more aware of her senses, yet wondering if this could be a dream from all her night's television exposure, she sat up and Cloe unhappily slid off her her chest. Pressing 1 on her phone's touch pad keyboard, she hastily put the phone back up to her ear and waited.

"Please hold." the voice said.

There was a moment of silence as Christine waited for another voice to come to her from across the line. The apartment around her was still, the computer was now in an off mode after she fell asleep with it on, the lamp over the couch was still lit, and Cloe was now walking over to the kitchen area for a messy drink of water. It was surprising how quiet the neighborhood was around her and she wondered if something were wrong elsewhere for it to be this calm. Sitting up, she stretched her legs out in front of her as nerves begin to pick up as a new fear came to her mind.

As soon as the thought came to her, there was a click in her ear and she held her breath as she heard a heavy, "Christine?" on the other side.

"Raoul?"

"Yeah, I uh… I'm not feeling so hot."

"Raoul what happened?"

"Look…I'll take care of the bail…I just need you to pick me up."

She was getting angry now, "Tell me what happened."

"I will, I…Please just, just get me out of here before anyone else sees."

"I don't have a car…" She responded dryly, "Do I have to get yours? Or will a taxi be okay?"

"Mine is uh… Yeah get a Taxi. I can't get out of here unless someone comes for me. Some stupid rule about…"

There was a pause as she waited for him to continue, only hearing him breathe instead. She took a painful gulp before asking her feared question, "Raoul are you…have you been drinking?"

He started off loudly, "Don't-" seemed to remember himself and continued, "Don't ask that…just, just come okay? I'll pay for everything."

A heavy sigh escaped her as she stood up and nearly fell back over, "Fine."

"Thanks," He said long and breathily.

She waited for a second to see if he said anything else, but the phone call soon ended with a, "The call has now timed out. Goodbye."

Grabbing her purse, and thankful that she never changed from her clothes from the day before, despite how wrinkled they had become from lounging in them, she took one last look at Cloe who was now wagging her tail by the door.

"Sorry girl," she sighed, "I'll be back to let you out in…I don't even know what time it is." She looked to the microwave clock that flashed 2:30AM in green lights. This time the sound came out more like a growl, "I'd better be back in four hours."

Walking closer to the door, she looked to Cloe again, "Looks like I won't be sleeping tonight after all."

The dog barked and scratched at the door.

"Sorry girl," Christine was unlocking the dead bolt and taking out Meg's keys, "I'll be back as soon as I can. Really."

Sliding through the door and locking it behind her, she faintly heard a few whimpers from Cloe before paws and claws tapped lightly across the wood floor towards where the couch was. Narrowing her eyes, Christine didn't know if she was more worried or angry. She had worked so hard to gloss over any disagreeable parts of Raoul's past last year and now everything could be ruined, her job included. Still, no time or energy to think on that now. The thought of what kind of dingy taxi she would have to encounter was already striking an unhappy cord with her.

"I'd better not have to pay for this." She said under her breath as she hailed the nearest cab. There was no time to wait for a Lyft and the wait would be too long anyway.

Raoul sat in a surprisingly empty cell room. It had been a quiet night for the officers, otherwise, he wouldn't have been caught. He closed his eyes and tried to replay what had happened only a few hours prior.

 _"License and registration please."_

 _"You don't know who I am?"_

 _"Have you been drinking this evening?"_

 _"Look officer, there are people all around here that deserve to be caught. I literally just saw a homeless chick suck a guy off for crack. That's a much bigger offense, don't you think? So how about you just let me go."_

 _"Step out of the vehicle sir."_

 _"You can't be serious."_

 _"Step out of the vehicle."_

 _"I'm a congressman, pops. I can break you."_

 _"Do not threaten me again! Get out now!"_

He faintly remembered someone telling him to stop the car when blue and red lights started flashing. He was sure that the lights couldn't be for him. Why didn't anyone care who he was? A young woman in braids was screaming at him and then he was screaming at her to shut up. Who was that woman again? How did he meet her? It didn't even matter…the problem was that she was in his car and it wasn't Christine. He didn't know what happened to her after he went to the station.

The drinks were beginning to fade out of him leaving only a queasy feeling in his stomach and a slight feeling that his eyes were splitting farther apart from each other. He wanted to sleep, but that wouldn't do any good for when it woke up. At least the bail wasn't an issue…He'd have to figure out a way to get his car back from the tow lot. He would also have to face his closeted girlfriend, but what good was a closet girlfriend?

Half of him hoped that she hadn't have been so good at her job. That way, it wouldn't have been as difficult to date someone in the office, but no, she had to be the most competent and hardest damn worker around. She wasn't supposed to be that good at the job! She was only supposed to stay long enough to get back on her feet and move. Then, they were going to date officially where none of this would be a problem.

The fact was, Raoul missed having beautiful women around him. He missed catching them when they fell after a few drinks when their heals were too high. There was an exciting spark there. Christine certainly had grown up, but she wasn't trashy like them. Raoul missed having one night with a girl or two at a time, then being able to go out again the next weekend for more…but of course, that was before he ran for office. Once the office he had to be responsible again, to be clean and shiny for everyone. Christine was meant to be a girl who could look clean and shiny with him.

There was still possibility with Christine, though. She was a rare kind of natural beauty, the kind that doesn't require so much make up, who can leave her hair down or put it up and still come off as a professional, someone who dressed well enough to fit in, and it always seemed as if she had high lights in her blonde hair, but she only ever went to a salon to get a cut. Christine actually had a clean record. She was someone he could have look glorious on his arm and someone who was all too willing to stay at home when he wanted to go out. She just couldn't find out about the other women. It was nothing personal. If anything, it was drunken desires and short sightedness. Christine was the long sightedness. She was what actually mattered to him.

Head resting on hands, elbows resting on knees, he was close to falling asleep when the sound of two pairs of foot steps were heard hitting the linoleum floor. Nothing was said, there was only the clashing of metal keys against one another and the squeal of the bar door being opened. Raoul looked up painfully and almost fell over once his eyes focused onto half a face he recognized.

"Congresman…Underwood?"

"You valuables are at the front desk. Let's leave."

Raoul couldn't believe who he was looking at and was ready to stay in the cell. This could ruin him. This could absolutely get him removed from his position. A senior representative such as Underwood only had to snap his fingers to make people like him come and go. His mind began to spin, trying to think of any possible reasons why Erik Underwood might want to politically destroy him.

"Now, Peters."

This time, Raoul did not hesitate and wobbled straight to the opening bars. The cop began to escort the two of them towards the front desk where Raoul's belongings were already waiting for him. He gathered up his keys, wallet, and phone in one big scoop between his two hands and began to shove everything back into his pockets. The objects were not fitting as smoothly as he would have liked as his hands were now moist from anxiety.

On the way out the door, Raoul took a quick look around for a taxi, but when seeing none from the steps, he focused his head towards the tall man in a finely tailored suit as he walked towards his own custom SUV. His driver held the door open and Erik stood on the other side, gesturing him inside. The while mask of the man shined in the tainted yellow street lights and Raoul made sure to get into the vehicle as quickly as possibly to avoid anyone from seeing him. At the same time, with the police station being a dodgy area, he had a strong feeling that no one would be recognizing him anyway.

Once inside, the door was slammed shut and Erik was with him on the other side. No further instructions were given to the driver before the engine started and they began to move forward. This meant they would be talking a while. He looked back at Erik, his head heavy on his shoulders.

"Buckle your seat belt." Erik said quietly, "I won't have you making another mistake tonight, especially under _my_ watch."

Raoul followed as commanded.

"How are you feeling?" Erik asked. It was not a question of care, it was a question of expectation.

"I'm fine." He responded cautiously.

"Fine is an understatement." Erik continued as he crossed his legs casually, "You reek of liquor and the girl they found you with was a prostitute. The report also mentioned you having threatened a police official. Anything else you want to add?"

Raoul took an uneasy gulp and tugged his short finger nails into his knees, "That's… That should be all."

"Good."

"How did you get my police file?" He asked wearily.

"It's awe striking what one can do when in my position. But, you're not in my position are you.."

The younger man sighed trying not to think of everything that was about to crash down around him. "And what are you planning to do with this information, Mr. Underwood."

"Dr. Underwood," Erik chanted casually, "I hold P.H.D.'s."

"Excuse me," he tried not to say through his teeth.

"I may be able to do just that Mr. Peters."

Raoul looked up suddenly to find that Dr. Underwood's was look meeting his eyes. He had never noticed that one of Underwood's eyes behind the mask had a lighter pigment of brown, if not almost gray, to it. His focus shifted a little, but not before Underwood continued.

"I will clear your record of this entire night, but in return I expect something from you."

"I…" Raoul thought a little harder on his words before saying something to dig him deeper in what he was in, "What do you want from me?"

"Loyalty." The word fell off Erik's tongue like a drop of honey.

"Loyalty? How so?" Raoul took a hold of his stomach as it began to move against the rhythm of the car.

"There is water in the cooler next to your seat. Do not get sick in here."

Raoul nodded painfully as he groped his hand to get the handle to the cooler. Finding the water immediately, he quickly brought the bottle to him, tore off the plastic cap, and was drinking steadily. The world was not still and he was trying to do everything to catch up with it.

"Do not make a mess either." Erik added.

"Sorry- thank you." Raoul said once the entire bottle was gone.

"As I was saying," He continued after clearing his throat, "What I require from you is no less than unquestionable loyalty. If I ask something of you, you will need to go through with it. Is that understood?"

"What kind of things are you wanting here?" Raoul asked slowly as he realized he didn't know what kind of man he was dealing with at all.

"I will assist you in your political career and you will assist me in mine. It ought not to be so difficult to comprehend. Do we have a deal?"

Erik was looking at him again, his form now seeming a lot taller and intimidating as the street lights behind him cast his face in shadow. Raoul couldn't even make out his mask or eyes anymore. What exactly was he making a deal to? At the same time, while the stakes were very high, Erik was certainly higher, Erik was in the key to the power, and while Raoul had no intentions of gaining any further power per se, to have an ally in Erik, even if it was more ken to slavery, may not be such a terrible thing. It wasn't like he had much a choice anyway.

"How long?" Raoul questioned slowly.

"For as long as necessary, hopefully not a while. You tire me with questions. You're either choosing to keep a future politically with me, or you choose to go back to whatever you had before Washington. A mother in Pittsburg, I believe? A brother you'll never measure up to? How exciting."

Raoul's brow furrowed further. This man was much more than he was expecting. He either threw in the cards, or had the chair taken out from under him.

Taking a painful dry swallow he voiced as decidedly as he could, "Deal."

"Good." Erik turned back to the window and now seemed more interested in the passing row houses of Georgetown, "We're almost at your residency. We have no more to discuss."

"But when will I know what you'll need of me?"

"I have your number. I think I can figure it out."

"Oh…right."

As if the entire conversation had been rehearsed and timed for accuracy, the car had just pulled up to the curb side of his house. Erik looked at it closer and mentioned, "The Kennedy's lived here before moving to the White House, didn't they?"

"Are you a historian too?" Raoul asked wearily.

"Of sorts." Erik looked out of the window again, "Is that another of your ladies? If it is you should move so they can no longer find you."

Raoul looked up, "Shit! No that's my…my she's more like a…it's complicated."

"Is that a complication with or without a money transaction?"

" _Without_ …without. Look, if there's nothing else you want-"

"Nothing immediately."

"Good."

And with that, Raoul was walking towards his stoop where a very angry and exhausted Christine sat next to the door with her head in her hands.

Whether it was coincidence or not, Christine's cab was stopped at a light just before turning into the police station. From the light, she watched as her own complication walked freely out the door with a very tall dark man. He appeared nervous as he looked around and Christine couldn't figure out for the life of her who that was as no one in his office was that tall, and neither were any of his close friends. Just before the cab turned in, the taller man went from the side of the SUV where Raoul had just gotten in, to his side of the car. It was then that Christine saw in the pale lamp light of the streets a distinct half-faced white mask.

"Underwood," she breathed.

"Tomffing wron?" The cab driver asked under a heavy accent from a place Christine was having issues placing.

"No, just ah…" The SUV was now making a U-turn out of the residential street. Her immediate instinct was to instruct the cabbie to follow the SUV, but she thought better of it as this was a serious, if not dangerous matter that she would be embarking on. The cab was now in front of the police station.

"Cash or creed?"

Christine looked back at the driver as he looked right back at her through his rear view mirror.

"I've changed my mind." Christine spoke as she watched the SUV disappear into the darkness of the streets behind them. "Will you take me to Twenty-O-Eight P Street Northwest? Georgetown, please."

"Ohay."

Fortunately, once arriving, she didn't have to wait too long with her thoughts before Raoul showed up. The ride across town seemed long enough to be stuck with all the "What if?" scenarios. Would she ever get a quiet night to herself ever again? While having a job was definitely a necessity that she never thought she would obtain in DC, she did start to see the bags under her eyes grow. Her shoulders began to droop more when she wasn't looking, and her weight had decreased. Was it all the job? Or was it just Raoul…too much of Raoul. Still, what choice did she have? She didn't want to lose her job over a broken relationship and she didn't feel it likely that anyone else was going to hire her with hardly a year of experience on her resume. Things had been looking dismal for a while, why did this have to happen on top of them?

Now out of the car, after coving a fee that she wished she could forget, she climbed the two steps up the stoop and sat back down. There was too much energy being asked of her if she had to stand and the rest of the night was already reserved for what was looking to be a fight. The air wasn't warm, but it wasn't chilly either and she had brought a very good warm pea coat with her. A bat flew over the street lamps, a car drove by a block away, and finally a familiar SUV pulled up to the curb.

She waited until he was in front of her.

"Christine-" he was holding his arms out to her and she didn't return the gesture.

"Can we go inside first?" she asked dryly.

"Yeah…" He lowered his arms and the relief of seeing her had faded into a new sadness as he took out his keys, "Yeah, right…"

Once inside, she made her way straight to the kitchen, turning on lights as she went.

"Ahh could you chill on the lights, please?" Raoul moaned.

"No." Was her short reply, "I'm going to make tea. You should take an aspirin and drink some water. We need to talk."

"Please babe," He had followed her into the kitchen and sat down at the bar, "Can this please wait till tomorrow?"

"No," she sat a full kettle of water harshly down on the stove top and lit the burners, "I have to leave tonight to take out Cloe at six. If you didn't want to talk tonight, you shouldn't have called, especially as you already had a ride." She turned around, "When did you and Underwood become such good friends?"

All of the adrenaline from earlier was making him fade and he dropped his head to the counter, "We're not…friends."

"Then?"

When he didn't respond, Christine went to the cupboard, took out a large glass, filled it with water, then slapped it down hard right in front of Raoul making him jump.

"What?!"

"Tell me everything so both of us can get some sleep."

It took a very long time for Raoul to finally get the entire story out, but Christine was gifted with great patience. According to him, he had started out the night at the H Street Country Club. He had dinner there with a friend of his from college, and they decided to move to Rock And Roll Hotel for a show that was playing on the roof. They continued drinking and finally ended up at a club and bar called Lil' Miss Whiskey's. Christine had heard of all of these places, but wasn't as familiar with the Atlas Corridor. The reputation it had received was that either young professionals and new yuppies went there for a casual night, or richer Georgetown wealth would venture towards the area to feel as if they were living on the wild side, pretending that they were ever in any harms way. The area was newly gentrified, but the city often boasted an over dose of police officers so that unless someone were really off the beaten path, they were in no more danger from someone begging for change than anyone else.

Christine decided to keep her opinions to herself when it came to where Raoul decided to go have a night out. Instead, she kept to the facts.

"So you got drunk and decided to drive."

"I couldn't leave my car out there all night." Raoul was speaking to the bar face down with his arms wrapped up around his head, "Do you know how expensive it is? I could buy a house in that neighborhood with my car!"

"Then maybe you shouldn't have gone out." She said under her breath.

"Not all of us are happy to coop ourselves up every weekend." He spit right back.

For a second she was taken aback by the remark. It was such a mean thing to say after all that she had done for his crumbling office. She thought about return the comment, to remind him of the situation he was in. There was a part of her that wanted to, a big part of her. Still, she was able to think generally clearly even as tired and upset as she was. Her thoughts reminded her of the fear of homelessness that she once had and she shut her mouth. The fact was, Raoul had money. This would never be a problem for him even if the entire world did find out. This instead could be a huge problem for her.

"How does Underwood come into this?" She asked, putting her other thoughts behind her.

"I'm not sure," He said honestly, "Maybe he saw when I was pulled over? I don't know. He has all kinds of sources. And now I'm his slave or something…" his voice faded away.

"Wait. What?" Christine finally sat down, feeling as if the floor would get too close if she didn't meet it half way first.

"I don't know. He said he would kill my record and save my political career if I do things for him."

"What kind of things?" She asked slowly.

"Not those kinds of things!"

"Come on, like you never thought the same thing? He's never shown any interest in anyone or anything besides politics."

"I know… He says he'll tell me what he wants once it comes up or something."

"Oh."

Christine took the last sip of her tea and decided it was time for her to go. She didn't even want to check the time either, just in case it told her something she didn't want to know. Standing, she took her mug to the sink and filled the cup with water before placing it in the dish washer. The maid he had hired was really good this time. The sink was spotless and the dishwasher was empty. It must be nice to have a maid.

Taking her coat and putting it on, she saw his head slink up.

"You're not really leaving are you?"

"Yes, I am. Cloe, remember?"

"Damn the dog, come on! I just had the shittiest night!"

So many things filled her head, so many terrible things that she wanted to yell at him how it wasn't her fault that he made immature and irresponsible decisions, how she thought his love for a dumb car was idiotic, how she used to have real "shitty" nights where she didn't know where her next meal was coming from, or if rent was going to come through in her pay check. She doubted he even knew what the real definition of "shitty" was and now he wanted to have sex so that he could feel better and go to sleep. A thought came to her mind, a very unhappy, painful, dreadful thought as she remembered old pictures of his playboy days on a Facebook that had long since been deleted.

"Raoul you weren't… There wasn't any other girls- er women with you were there?"

"Dammit Christine! You really think I'm that low of a guy?"

She gulped, "No…it's that well, it's not like we're really official. There's nothing technically holding you back."

"Christine, babe, you gotta know I love you, right?"

The words took her off guard. Sure, he would say that he loved plenty of people around the office, but was a friendly flirtation. She had never heard him say such words seriously to her. "No I… I didn't know that."

"Well I do. I do, Christine."

He was looking up at her with the red lined eyes. What was love, anyway? Was she supposed to say a word like that back?

"You're honestly one of the best things to have every happened to me, both professionally and privately. And if I didn't need you to fix up my shitty office, I would lay you off with a great recommendation and date you publicly. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

She didn't know what she wanted to hear from him, really. If time could be turned backwards, she would have rather heard that he was going to stay in and watch a baseball game, drink beer, and eat meat-loaded pizza.

"Thank you," She decided to say, "Thank you for letting me know."

"You're welcome."

The unrepeated question to stay the night was still in the air, but Christine continued before she could hear it again, "I'll stay over another night. It just wouldn't make sense for me to stay over now. I'd have to leave in a few hours."

"That's still something."

"I'm tired Raoul, and so are you. I need to get back."

Nothing else of great interest was said before she followed through with her word. The worst part was that the sun began to show its beams from behind the elaborate town houses. Even if she wasn't going to get any sleep before having to let Cloe out, at least it was more likely that a cab would be available on M Street in Georgetown. She figured she would just keep walking towards Adams Morgan until one passed by. Or maybe even a bus if she could manage it. Too much to think about already.

* * *

Highlights of Chapter Three: The wealthy supporters have been cordially invited to attend their annual fundraiser and Christine and Meg land a ticket in. What will happen when Erik sees Christine for the first time?

 **Review if you have a second to spare! I'd love to hear your thoughts!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A humongo thank you to those who have taken a chance on this story and have read, reviewed, followed, and favorited it thus far! Chapter Two got about 200 hits and the stats make me all giddy about posting new chapters and updating the Tumblr. A SUPER big thank you to my first reviewers: ciaramarite1028, QTpa2Tea, ErikizmaBae, Guest, Wood Dragon, Everyonedeserveslove, JennyDear813, and Broken-Vow!**

 **Enjoy :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Three**

"Hey girl!" Meg popped through the door looking for Christine only to be greeted by a drowsy cocker spaniel who half heartedly yelped at her knee with a wagging tail. "Nice of you to meet me sweetheart. Now what did you do with Christine?"

There was a russell of blankets and a long moan from the sofa. A forehead covered in blonde hair emerged. "Meg is that you?"

"I hope so. If not, you're totally being robbed."

"Just don't break anything." The head disappeared under the turtle shell of blankets once more.

"Hey!" Meg skipped over to the couch and plopped down right at Christine's feet making her jump.

"Whoa!" Christine sat up and rubbed her eyes, "Weren't you just on a plane for four hours? How are you this awake?"

"I've taken to those little pink 4-Hour Energies at twenty-six thousand feet. It might actually beat out my adoral phase!"

"Great…" she croaked.

Cloe popped up on the couch and reclaimed her old place under Christine's arm an blankets with a yawn. Christine pulled the dog closer to her for warmth.

"Well I can see you missed me, geezer." Meg scratched Cloe between the hips and she stretched to give her more access. She took another look at her friend, "Hey girl you doing okay? You hung over or something?"

"No time for that. Sorry Meg, it's good to see you. You know I've just been so busy. I've been trying to sleep this entire weekend and kept getting, er… distracted." Christine shut her eyes tightly trying to make everything go away for just a second of sleep longer.

"Uh-oh, looks like you need a good vent." Meg prepared herself on the old couch by crossing her legs with her arms crossed over them at the knees. She was average height but with long lanky arms and legs. Her red hair was up in a low pony tail, but it was long enough to cascade down to her high waist. "What's up girl?"

Christine laughed bitterly at how simple the question sounded in comparison to how complex her weekend was, "Too much."

"Hmm that sounds cryptic." Meg made a move to pet her dog again saying, "Well, thanks again for looking after Clo for me. You know how much pet sitters cost in this city. Anything to avoid that, you know?"

"No problem." She sat up a little to look at her friend a little more personally, "It was actually really nice to get out of my house. I caught back up with Netflix."

" _Orange Is The New Black_?!" she all but screamed.

"Yep."

"Yes! Now we can talk about something other than work again! Come on chica let's lead the feminist movement!"

Christine couldn't help but laugh, "Maybe tomorrow. NARAL won't leave me alone from the last birth control protection protest you took me to. Good causes, but my email account is wearing out." She hugged the pillow under her head a little closer, "I'm so tired of work."

"What's up?" Meg asked, but in reality knew that this was bound to happen sooner or later. Nonetheless she asked, "I thought you were loving that job?"

"I mean, I guess it's not the job. I need the job. I think it's more of everything else that comes with it."

"You mean Raoul."

"Yeah I guess I do."

"…And?"

"He told me he loved me. As in, actually love-loving me."

"Holy shit! How did you take it? Did you say it back?"

Christine half heartedly laughed, "Whoa chill, reporter. One question at a time so I can answer remember?"

"Sorry, sorry it's the caffeine. God I'm going to crash so hard in thirty minutes. So," She slowed down to clarify the order she wanted her questions asked, "How did you take it?"

"Well, he told me he loved me after he was taken to the Zone Five Police Station on a DUI."

To this, Meg didn't even respond, she simply let her jaw drop.

"But apparently…it won't show up anywhere. So, you don't know anything."

"I'll break my laptop before I write a thing."

"Well, unless you could land a personal interview, you can't prove a thing. Apparently, it's all taken care of."

Meg shrugged, "I mean…his family is that rich."

"Wealth has nothing to do with it." Christine looked at Meg seriously, telling her with her eyes that this was a big deal even though she couldn't exactly say it was a bigger deal than she realized, "This has to do with power."

Meg's green eyes thinned behind her thin red eyebrows, "What? Has he risen in power all of a sudden? I mean, his brother doesn't seem like the guy to help him out of anything like that at the moment."

"I'm not sure." Christine sighed. She wanted to really vent this information, but knew she couldn't, "Sorry, if I could tell a soul, it would be you. As usual, you already know too much."

"Right…" It took her a second to go from reporter mode to friend mode out of respect, "Wow. That really does suck for your weekend."

"And that's all I really cared about for this weekend either."

"Well hey, if that's all you can vent about, that is totally okay. I will order us some Chinese and you can listen to me tell you about the drama that went down at the Harold while I was out."

"Oh?"

"Apparently, I'm going to the Kennedy Center Capitol Crusade now!"

An angry noise came from Christine's stomach and she held it for a second, "Don't get me wrong. I want to hear all about this, but I think Chinese would be perfect right now."

Meg had had her pink iPhone out in front of her for a little while now, "Already on Eat24!"

The rest of the night was a huge relief for both girls. Christine was given a chance to talk some of her feelings out about Raoul and Meg went over how the special events reporter at the Harold was fired after being publicly shamed for sleeping with some of the wealthy recipients he was getting stories on.

"You know," Meg said with a mouth full of Egg Foo Young, "It's not as if any young reporters are holy or anything. Sex happens sometimes to get a story. The only problem was, whenever this guy had too many to drink, his gaydar went out the window and he hit on the wrong man a little too publicly. Before that, he never had a problem with picking out the right guy, sometimes girl. I think he was getting desperate. Nice guy, though."

"Where do you think he'll go now?" Christine asked as she picked at some fried rice with her chop sticks.

"There will be other jobs for him I'm sure. This is a hot gossip subject now, but it won't last forever. And now I get to find a beautiful dress to go dance in!"

"I thought you were't exactly supposed to get involved at those functions."

"More like, once people find out who you are, they won't always talk, but for me, I'm virtually unknown as they usually have me traveling. It'll be nice to be in town for more than one weekend at a time."

"It'll be nice to see you again too. And Cloe of course!"

The girls laughed and Meg popped the cork off a bottle of wine for them and poured them both some Barefoot Sweet Red into floral plastic cups. Christine felt comfort with Meg where she didn't exactly feel it with Raoul. Meg was surviving just as she had been. There were parts of her life that Christine never shared with Raoul because he would never understand. Meg understood, not necessary because she had been in as desperate of a situation before, but because she had seen more the world. She had gone to China and India and seen just how bad people could have it and yet be so thankful and hopeful towards the next day. Meg was an excellent friend and Christine didn't know what she would do without her, even if she was in another country most of the time.

III

Douglas Nadir stood at the corner of Pennsylvania and Minnesota Southeast just next to wear the beam of the street light hit the pavement. He was happy for his decision to wear an old second hand coat that he had found from a thrift store. Attention was not what he wanted to draw, especially in the Southeast of DC. He could just make out the cleaner side of the city just beyond the Anacostia River that was a few blocks before him. Sure, there had been many advancements in improving all of the district, but where he stood was still under speculation as far as he was concerned.

This girl, this Sorelli Posner, lived on this side of town. That was not surprising enough. After she had been found in Congressman Peter's car, it wasn't too difficult to find out who she was and where she was coming from. There were enough dealers on H Street who knew her and he knew the dealers. There was an advantage to having good relations with the underground. They knew everything when the police couldn't keep up and all they asked for was simple: either money or information. Nadir usually had both.

He acquired her number and the blocked call was simple, "If you value whatever it is you hold dear, whatever it is that you're paying for through selling your body, you will meet with me tonight."

She had decided on the location. This was a general place of nothing too interesting. There were people around, but not too many. She probably knew the people and would expect them to do something if anything were to happen. Unlikely. Nadir knew of these types. They would get it into their heads that the men they slept with had feeling for them and would protect them, but it wasn't that. They knew what they were screwing.

He saw her approaching from the north and figured she had been watching for him from the park. This was not a surprise. She was a little late. At least he looked almost normal in comparison to those around him. He kept his hat on and stepped into the light a little so that she could see.

"What do you want?" She spat about five feet away, just where the street light beam could hit her knee high healed black boots.

"Your silence."

"What you mean?" She looked up to him and he realized how short she was. Her hair was in tiny braids that fell all around her shoulders and down to her upper waist. She was wearing bright blue contacts and dark red lipstick, but was otherwise covered by a jacket that looked more like a big brown animal.

"I will give you ten thousand dollars towards you starting a new life away from this city."

"Look man, I don' charge that much. What you asking for? And damn, all this for a job? You know where I hang out. You coulda just gone dere."

"It's not like that. There is no job. Only silence."

"Silence fo' what?"

An old brown car passed by and the person inside slowed down as they saw her. She rolled her eyes and stuck a middle finger up to whoever it was. They drove away.

"Come closer, out of the light so that you will not draw anymore unnecessary attention."

Sorelli thought about this for a moment, but eventually made her move over so that they were only two feet away. A gust of wind blew and she brought the bear of a coat closer to her.

"The incident the other night where you were caught in a car with a driver who was impaired. Do you remember this?"

"It wasn' da first time tha happened. I told him to pull ova so we could get things done with so I could fuckin' leave. Dat asshole danced with me all night and when I told him I was chargin' he lost his shit. Guys like 'dem don' know day whores from sluts. Fuckin' idiot."

Nadir pulled out a wad of bills from his pocket, just enough so that she could see before replacing it in his pocket.

"Ten thousand dollars for you to move out of DC and start a new occupation. To be silent on anything that happened that night concerning him."

"He mus be pretty important for you ta do all dis." She cocked a pierced eye brow to him.

She was getting smart on him, but he wasn't going to have any of it. "He doesn't have to be. Are you taking my deal or am I wasting my time?"

She looked down to his pocket and frowned. Her question seemed sincere, "Does it matter where I go?"

"Away from the metropolitan area. There can't be a metro in the place you choose."

"For ten K?"

"Enough money for you not have to lift a finger to work for ten months in a safe apartment well outside of the city if you're smart."

She stepped forward and leaned her head towards him, "Show me dat money again."

He was getting frustrated, "No, you either take this deal or leave it. What is your choice? This is the last offer before I make matters more serious."

She showed him some attitude with her eyes alone when he said that, but then shrugged and said, "I don' like livin' around here anyway."

"Then leave tonight."

"Easy. I don' got so much shit to pack."

He took the wad out and placed it in her long skinny hand and held it for a moment before letting her take it, "I don't want to have to see you again."

"Dat feeling's mutual."

"Good."

And with that, she took the money and left, throwing her braids over her shoulder as she walked down the road. _Sorelli_ , he thought as he got into his car to drive home, _like the famous European ballerina from the turn of the century. Maybe someone in her family had some class at one point._

III

Monday came and went without anything too interesting happening at the office. That was actually a huge relief to Christine as she was prepping for something as dramatic as a smoke bomb to go off somehow. Even Raoul steered pretty clear of her, choosing instead to all but lock himself up in his room for the duration of the day. She wondered if he had already started his secret work for Wood and if he would tell her if he had or not.

By Tuesday, an intern had sent an email to the wrong person and she was having to go through the works of personally apologizing to another important donor in Pittsburg. It was in the middle of this that three taps were heard on her door. Finishing up her conversation with an annoyed receptionist, she sighed, "Come in."

Before her was a antsy looking Raoul who held a piece of thick tinted gold paper in his hand. He shut the door and Christine removed her reading glasses.

"Hey Christine," He started.

"Hey Raoul,"

There was a pause that went on a little longer than she liked.

"Well, I figured you might want to go to this thing with me."

He tossed the paper down on the desk. Christine read,

 _Dear Congressman Peters,_

 _You have been cordially invited by Mr. and Mrs. Jordan Seymour Sullivan to attend the annual Kennedy Center Capitol Arts Crusade and Ceremony in gracious thanks for your charitable contributions to the growth of the visual and performing arts throughout this distinguishable year._

 _There will be dinner, an awards ceremony, and performances, including the annual fundraiser delight of "Spot Singing" starting on Saturday, the twentieth of December, two thousand and sixteen, at seven o'clock in the evening at 2700 F St NW, Washington, DC 20566._

 _Please RSVP to RSVP before the date of the ceremony and we look forward to seeing you there!_

Christine spoke without looking up to Raoul, "Would you like me to RSVP for you?"

"No, well, I figured an intern could do that."

She laughed as if to say, _Don't get your hopes up._

"So what would you like me to do?"

"I have two tickets."

"Would you like me to call someone?"

"No, I," Raoul contorted his face a little funny, "I would like you to be my plus one." He waved her off before she could say no, "Look, I don't see the real harm in this. You're a respected member of my office that I would like to treat to a good time. People won't think a thing and it will be a good chance to me to brag on your efforts here. Maybe if anyone else shows half as much promise as you have I can give you a recommendation letter to take where ever you want."

Christine still wasn't convinced, "I'm really not sure if this is the best idea. I mean, is this something you were put up to or anything?"

"God no, I mean," He put on his typical sarcastic face, "Phillip might like to see you."

"Does he know about-"

"No, no, damn I'm not close with the guy, but he remembers you from when you sang as the beach and said so the last time he was in the office. Remember he was staying at the resort and making my job hell? He liked you and your dad then. Besides, he likes anyone that's isn't me."

Christine thought back to that strange night. An older man had handed her and her father a one-hundred dollar bill as tip and Christine's eyes got so wide that she thought they would fall out. _"Don't waste my money."_ He had told her. She stuffed it in her sock and saved it for six months without touching it.

"He's the one who put my contribution in anyway. It would make him look good that I brought an artist in as my plus one."

Christine looked down, "Well, I'm not exactly an artist anymore. I'm a secretary I guess."

"A survival job, right? That's what artists call then, right?" Christine gave him a look of remorse, "Right. So, will you come with me?"

She sighed, "I…I still don't know…"

"Look, are you hearing me here? I'm doing this for you. I'm willing to lose you to my office so that we can really be together. I'm tired of fucking things up in my life. I want something for both of us." He took a step forward, "I meant what I said the other night and… I understand why you didn't say it back. I know I can be a real ass. But if I could get that out of you in time, well, I'd really, really like that."

Christine was taken aback by all these words. She really didn't know whether to swoon or deny him again. Instead, she let her hand drop with the letter and as she said wearily, "I have nothing to wear to something like this."

"I'll take care of it!" He said excitedly, "Oh god Christine this is so great! We're going to look so great I promise. I'll pay for everything. I'll rent you jewelry too. No one is going to guess you work for me. You'll look so different! And when they notice it's you, they'll all lose it. Yes! I'll tell an intern to plug in an RSVP." He was on his way out the door when he looked back at her and mouthed slyly, "I love you."

She half smiled, he left, and then her head fell to the desk, "What am I going to wear?"

Finding new energy she pushed her reading glasses back, pulled out her phone, took a picture of the invitation that Raoul forgot to pick up, and texted Meg, _Emergency! What do I wear?_

* * *

 **Authors Notes:**

 **If you've been following this story weekly, I have an apology on not having introduced Christine to Erik in this chapter. There was a bit more elaboration that needed to happen before I could do so...I'm trying to tie situations up into relatively neat bows in order to answer "what if?" scenarios. That said, to try and find middle ground, I updated my Tumblr for both this chapter and the next so you can get a super sneak peek into the world we're about to visit. CapitolIntent DOT tumblr DOT**

 **Oh! "The Kennedy Center Capitol Arts Crusade and Ceremony" is a made up event. However, it is loosely based about the Kennedy Center Honors which falls around the same time of the year.**

 **Lastly, a small teaser (minor spoiler!) into the next chapter:**

The Master Controller took the stage again and appeared to have three envelopes in his hand. Once in front of the microphone he held them up for everyone to see, "In here are our soon to be Spot Singers!" The crowd clapped loudly and a nervous excitement ran through the air. "For our first Spot Singer, we would like to give a big round of applause to our largest donor who has put ten thousand dollars down for our Cultural Arts Center: The Future Vice President, Mr. Phillip Tusk!" More applause and everyone acknowledged Phillip who was standing conveniently near the stage, a stale grin on his face.

"Like we were really surprised by that one." The Master Controller teased, "So, Mr. Tusk has chosen whomever is inside this envelope here." He pulled one out from all the rest dramatically then pulled out a slip of paper inside. At seeing what was written on it, he made a face as if confused, but finally finished with an uncanny name dropping from his lips.

 **Your reviews keep me kickin'! :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Three got 150 hits all within the first day up! Ohmeegerrrbb that makes we so excited! I'm so happy people are liking this story so far to keep up with it like this! Remember if you want to check out some of my inspirations check out capitolintent DOT tumblr DOT com - captions have been fixed and can be viewed if you click on the photos!**

 **Looking for a quick Halloween One-Shot? I wrote one if you want to check it out!** **s/11574670/1/Come-Little-Child**

 **Everyone ready to go to a swanky party? Hold on to your hats :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Four**

Erik looked at his reflection for a long time. He was standing in front one of only two mirrors he would ever find in his house. There was one removable one that was the downstairs bathroom, that was where he shaved so the things was truly a necessity. Most of the time it was covered up by a small curtain so that he wouldn't have to look at himself any more than what was absolutely needed. Currently, he stood before a full mirror located in his walk in closet. He surveyed his jet black suite that costed some obscene fine from Bottega Veneta. A light grey collared shirt was showing beneath, a matching black tie perfectly knotted under a freshly steam pressed collar.

There was something comforting about having clothing that was the best one could buy. No one could argue with how he looked when it came to high class fashion. Granted, he wasn't wearing his Kiton this evening. That was for deal making and intimidation nights. Today was meant to be a collection of drinking, merriment, and good will to poor needy children under the context of delivering them culture.

His phone buzzed lightly in his pocket. A text. Nadir would be waiting for him as they planned on attending the ceremony together. At least then there would be one person out of a couple hundred that he didn't despise. They called it the "Crusade and Ceremony," and it was another ironic bit of honesty there. They crusaded everyone for money in the name of the future of the arts and ceremonies for only the highest of the victors. Most of the people there didn't even care so much for the arts. Erik cared even if he would never admit to just how much. It was a good campaign addition if anything.

IV

Christine looked into the full mirror that hung from her bathroom door. It had been thankfully quiet that day in Eastern Market due to the cold rain that came through that morning. Not many people were out and about shopping for the bits of art that locals came out to sell. She enjoyed living out there near the metro. People were nice and her basement studio apartment was cheap to rent. She had to admit that life out there was nice whenever she had the chance to experience it.

Her electric blue dress seemed to make her blonde hair shine and her pale skin glow. She wasn't sure if it was too much. Raoul had made her visit a dress store in Bethesda and had them put the dress on his tab. Just around her shoulders was more of the dress as it looped up in clean diamond ties that finished out across her back, stretching only just below her shoulder blades. The bodice itself was heart shaped and tucked into another thick piece of fabric that circled her waist just right. From there, the dress filled out and cascaded loosely all the way to the floor to cover up her nude three inch heals.

The sheer satin fell smoothly from her fingers as she touched it. It was the most beautiful dress she had ever seen in person, let alone own. At the store, there were no prices or labels on anything so Christine never knew how much Raoul had spent on her. He kept that from her as well, for she was sure she would hand it right back if she ever found out.

For the finishing touch, Christine placed tear drop diamond earrings into her ears. Her hair had already been finished by Meg and was swept up into a sea of ringlets that were now wrapped up into a large flat bun. Her makeup was still simple, but noticeable now and Christine clenched her hands together nervously already unsure if there was too much eyeliner. This was the closest she had felt to beautiful, really beautiful in a long time and it was terrifying.

"Raoul's going to lose it when it sees you." Meg said with a smirk as she stood with a glass of wine in her hand. She was wearing a light pink dress that appeared to tie around her neck, pull lightly around her bodice only to tuck into a thin strap that showed how nice and thin her waist was. It cascaded to the floor with extra room to fan out around her if she were to spin fast enough. The dress was very nice, though Christine wondered if she were to stand out for it not being as nice as what Raoul had purchased for herself. She had seen pictures of this event, of the president and all others walking down finely woven carpets in a marble hallway. She wondered vaguely what marble would do if she hit her head on it from falling down due to a panic attack.

"I hope this doesn't bring too much attention to me. I can't afford to break anything. And these earrings are on loan."

"Don't sweat it, hon." She could tell Meg was getting a little annoyed and realized that her fuss wouldn't be going any further, "Tonight's going to be a load of fun, you'll see, k? Just pretend that we're princesses going to a ball. It's all pretend!"

She muttered at her reflection, "Maybe it would be better if an ogre ran off with me tonight."

"If I didn't think it would knock you over, I'd throw this pillow at you." Meg's hand was gripped over the fabric.

Christine turned to her, "I don't know how I feel being so close to Raoul. He's actually a prince."

Meg took another sip of the wine, "Nah, he's just rich. There's definitely a difference, hon. What's his deal anyway? Is he still coming or sending a car now?"

"He's sending his car over so that we can get there on time. For some reason he's going to be late."

"Hey," Meg crossed over to hug her friend's shoulders reassuringly with her long lean arms, "It's going to be fine. You can be my date first and no one will think twice of you."

"Right… And you don't think this eye liner is too much?"

"God no! Any unnatural color and you freak out. You look amazing. Now let me pee and then we can go. Have the rest of my wine. You need it."

Christine took a long look at the glass of wine Meg left in her hand. It couldn't really hurt that much to at least try to loosen up, even if it was with the help of something else. Sighing, she put the glass up to her mouth and took a good two and a half gulps to finish the glass before Meg came back out.

IV

Every year, the Kennedy Center Capital Arts Crusade and Ceremony spared no expense in treating their donors to the highest of standards and class. Upon arrival, the honorees were greeted with bright white lights that illuminated a flush red carpet just large enough for two people to walk comfortably side by side with room for large gowns to fan out if need be. The planning team for such a prestigious event lavished those in attendance with such glamor in hopes that the next year, the enormous tax deductible donations would rise by percentage amounts.

As guests made their way up the marble steps of the Kennedy Center, the press were already there waiting to snap the most impressive picture for their magazines, papers, and news reports. Security personal, both government and private, stood tall and strong, every now and then talking softly into nearly hidden ear pieces. Helicopters flew by with search lights on high creating more spots of light for the gods below. This was a high end event that would let the public know who was in the money, who supported what cause, and of course, who knew how to dress in the current fashion.

Anyone from politician, to high end music artist, to globally recognized painter, to composer, to wealthy business associate was there. Everyone who mattered in the world of the arts had a face to share. Everything was to be absolutely marvelous with no spared expense and those in attendance were to appear nothing less.

Once inside, guests strolled down halls of white marble, held up by strong pillars, the red carpet still laid beneath their feet. Christmas trees were lined on either side of them between each pillar. Each one was decorated with different class. All had bright gold lights and garland, but only a few had round red spheres. There were some that help glass blue menorahs, others with African attributed designs, symbols of varying religions, trees dedicated to different seasons, everything was politically and religiously accounted for, and everything still looked to matched everything else to create a breath taking array of celebration.

By the end of the hallway, four men and women stood across from each other, all of them wearing matching black suits. They held their hands sturdy to their sides with blank strong looks on their faces, meaning to be a a study welcome into a banquet hall of smiles, laughter, and secret objectives. The banquet hall was well lit to display all of the elegant dresses and suits, the absolute best that money could buy and unlike the popular televised awards ceremonies, everyone in attendance to this production wore tasteful fashion as if it were ingrained in their very beings.

Tables lined the walls of the rectangular room. They were wood with matching chairs that had well cleanly stitched cream colored fabrics tied neatly in bows around the backs of the chairs and around the circular tables. In center of the tables a large floor had been cleared for dancing, the surrounding carpet having been removed. Beyond the floor was a raised stage holding a string orchestra against the wall. They turned their instruments as piano music played from hidden monitors around the room. Microphones were set up for intended speakers at the foot of the stage. Above them, crystal chandeliers shined brightly over everything, making the room sparkle from the reflections.

The way that dresses fanned out around patrons, the manners of the men, and the pose that people held themselves, it seemed almost like stepping back to a time where such things really mattered. People could tell who they knew by the way they took to their surroundings and people could point out just who they wanted to talk to by using a combination of such elements as if it were ingrained in their evolution.

A young woman in blue stood, mesmerized by the glow that surrounded her, not only from the elegant chandelier, but the people themselves. Everything and everyone seemed so perfect, so absolutely to the nines exemplary. They stared at her as she walked in, took a long look at what she wore, how she wore it, her makeup choices, the way her hair was held up, and when finding nothing to pick at from any of it, finally settled on her face that had such a simple easy accepting beauty to its soft features. She was not the most gorgeous in the room and she was far from the least appealing. This young woman would fit for a night they concluded, and they let her be as she continued to walk in with a lost yet entranced look on her face.

On the opposite side of the room, a man stood in the only shadow that the room possessed. He held a glass cup filled with dark liquid and few ice chips in his left hand, leaving his right hand available for anyone needed that sort of professional reassurance. Another man, one of tanned skin, stood next to him. Every so often them would speak few words to each other. Others would come and go, all of them eager to meet him and shake his hand. He greeted everyone with the same level of politeness, but his confidant next to him knew just what the sign meant that followed each of these people once they were gone.

This man had seen the young woman when she entered, just as he had seen everyone else who had entered before and after her from the corner of his eye. Besides the hint of terror that he could sense hiding behind her eyes, he made no other special notes of her. She was clearly a date of one of the wealthy even if that date had not appeared with her. That was peculiar. Other than that, there was nothing else to note.

The leader of the event came to the center microphone and thanked the attendees numerous times for their contributions and their being there. After this he announced there would be eatables placed around the room for guests to taste, and finally left the stage for a well known, now elderly, jazz singer to take the stage. The night had begun.

IV

Raoul tugged on his over coat to straighten it once exiting his SUV. His late night online meeting with one of Erik's secretive colleagues had gone far longer than he had expected. The entire thing came off as a waste of this time, but there was some information that proved helpful when it came to his home state of Pennsylvania. He wasn't sure what Erik wanted from him, but if it was simple to listen to old men talk, that was far better than other things that could have been asked of him.

He didn't take note of the grand layout before him as he all but ran down the hallway into the banquet hall. Such gatherings he had seen before and this one, while he could appreciate the beauty, it was nothing new. This entire life was nothing new. Even Christine, technically, as wonderful as she was for him, was at the end of the day, nothing new. However, the sight of her was state-of-the-art enough for him. He had never seen her look so elegant and refined. Part of him wasn't sure if it would have been at all possible to have such a dramatic change so quickly, but there she was at his table nibbling on a shortbread cookie and carefully sipping white wine.

There was promise in her and times like this made that clear. She was the type that he needed to marry. She would be the one to save his image for good, to help him move forward beyond his entire shitty past. So far that night she had only spoken when necessary, kept everything to only skin deep conversations with others, and left a polite impression on them once they left. This was what was needed of her for him: nothing amazing or something too much to stand out, but something to look and act prettily beside him, to compliment him, and keep him going.

When he had told her he loved her, he had been completely honest despite the desperate circumstances they had been in. She had not returned his statement and he had not really repeated the words since out of concern that she would not exchange them again, but his words had been true and all he was doing now was waiting for the opportune time to have her say them to him. Then things would be fine. Everything would be fine.

There were plenty of doubts in his young life, but at the moment, and for many moments to come, Raoul knew without a doubt that he truly and honestly loved Christine.

IV

Raoul's slightly disheveled appearance was clear to Erik when he entered. There was a part of him that was hoping the old man from China would talk so much and so slowly that his little slave wouldn't show up at all. Regardless, no words would be exchanged this night. Their relationship was not a public one and for clear reasons, especially as his step-brother Phillip Tusk was no fool. They were members of the same party. That was it. There had been a point to all of the lectures Erik had set him up with, it was simply a matter of putting everything together against the right person. Eventually, connections would begin to grow and once he discovered them, he was sure to go to Erik as his confidant. Then, it would not be a conspired attack against his superiors, it would be an understanding and a decision to come out with it for the good of the American people. At least, that's how Erik planned for it to go. The Secretary of State would be the first to go and it would be simple pruning from there on.

It was an interesting study to see the young man sit down to the simple beauty in blue. There was casual conversation between them and they appeared to be acting overly professional. So professional and polite and withdrawn they were that Erik was suspecting something further that was hidden from those around them who had already had too much expensive champaign to drink. Erik had planned on nursing no more than three drinks that night just for this reason. Truths would come out in various people this night and he wanted to be around to note every single one of them.

Four drinks in and Raoul was outright staring at the woman before him. She appeared embarrassed of this and kept shying away from all visual connections with him. As simple music played on, a woman in pink came and took her away from the man's gazes. She, while having no tags on, was part of the press. The way she made her way about the banquet hall so quickly proved that. Many had not realized this about her. She had placed to tag in another location from the others, made her self appear to be with the crowd, but to Erik, it was clear she was a new recruit of an old paper. As pretty as she was, he was certain that her getting attention and interesting stories of people would be easy. He wouldn't be surprised if she was even invited to a few after parties either by mistake of her being a guest or not. She could fool the others to look like an artist, but to him her point was clear. There was a fire for information in her eyes that he couldn't ignore and he wouldn't encourage her his way.

Immediately, as soon as the two young women were off on their own in a corner, the young woman in blue seemed to let some of her tensions rest. They looked about the room, the woman in pink chatting softly and stealthy into her friends ear. They giggled and suddenly all other friendly relationships in the room appeared forged in comparison. They were not a part of this crowd, they were real people among this mass of money and power, and the appeared to only be interested in the others as humans rather than gain. Eventually, the woman in blue had to return to her date and her tension and uncomfortable awkward smiles returned and enhanced.

IV

Speakers came and went throughout the night, Christine listened attentively to all of them, wondering just who they were and how they came to their status. The performers she had heard of. She had remembered them from another life time and listening to them was threatening to bring her back to that time. As rude as she felt it to be, she often tore herself away from their music to listen to those who came up to Raoul to speak. They seemed to not feel the music as she did, they were turned off to its beauty. She hated to admit she was thankful for it. There was a part of her that wanted to feel and respond to the beauty, but that side she almost wished to be dead. Such things hurt too much. Such things couldn't be opened again.

The entire world around her was nothing but one uncomfortable scene after another, either someone she didn't exactly care for was talking and laughing next to her, practically ignoring her as they viewed her as nothing next to Raoul, or a new singer was introduced that reminded her of something she wasn't capable of combating. At one point she made eye contact with a cold Erik Underwood from across the room. She had not noticed him before this moment and wondered if he had been in the same corner that entire night. Their connection did not last long before he took a sip of his drink and turned his attention back to the stage where a group of children of intentionally mixed races and mixed economic prosperity lined up on the stage. While the connection was short, it was clear, Underwood had been looking at her for something and she feared that he somehow knew everything about her as he had found it out about Raoul. The thought crossed her to ask Raoul, but he was already a few drinks in and laughing with an old boys club friend. Such a subject would need to wait.

The Master Coordinator for the night's events was on the stage once more, presenting what was the Washington Equality Children's Choir. He went on to thank donors again as their support as it kept the organization alive.

"And of course, as I'm sure you've all been looking forward to, our annual Spot Singing Event. If you have someone you wish to nominate for this please visit the table in the back where you can place your bet. There will be three Spot Singers, the highest bidder gets to have them go in the order he or she wishes as well as pick from our selection of songs for them to sing. Place your bets now as this will be closed in only 15 minutes and remember that all the money donated will go to funding the renovation of the Downtown Cultural Center!"

Christine watched as the man left the stage and the conductor of the choir took her place in front of the children. When she looked back at Raoul, his posture had straighten and he was calming his excited and tipsy nerves. It was his brother Phillip that was talking to him. She remembered him from so many years ago: pale, bags under his eyes, white hair, bright blue eyes, and a bit of a gut. His eyes caught her and she felt the need to straighten up as well. He did not speak to her, only half smiled and turned his conversation back to his brother. There was recognition in his eyes. He knew who she was whether Raoul had told her or not. He was nodding and just before leaving said in her direction, "Don't waste my money," and walked away.

The children's choir started to sing a very poised and professional "Carol of the Bells" and Christine watched with curious eyes as Phillip walked pointed to the table in the back of everything were numerous people were lined up signing papers and writing checks for bets. All of them seemed to move to the side as Phillip approached. Some of them laughed and seemed to give up. Phillip was making a bet and apparently it was a winning bet that was not to be seriously touched. The choir continued until applause hit the air and Christine followed the motion before laying a hand on Raoul's arm lightly and whispered, "What was that about?"

Reluctantly, Raoul withdrew his arm, "Careful babe," he said softly, "We don't want any more attention."

She nodded and was distracted by Meg who sat down next to her, "Did the great grump say something to you?" She whispered.

"I'm not sure." Christine whispered back.

Two more singers were taking the stage. People began to laugh and Christine looked up to see the current Vice President and the Speaker of the House preparing themselves for something that others seemed to be looking forward to. The Master Controller came back, "Now to start off Spot Singing, we present our opening act that will be singing a song picked by you from on online poll. I feel these men need no introduction here so I'll let them get straight into it. Fellas?"

Both men were of good spirits, but were clearly embarrassed by the sea of laughter that came from the crowd when the Vice President sang, or grumbled more like, "I've got to go way," followed by the Speaker's "Baby it's cold outside."

The rest of the verse was almost completely lost to those falling over laughing. Christine couldn't help but joke with them. Meg whispered into her ear, "This song is about rape," and the girls began to laugh in embarrassment more at the terrible fact that it may have been. The two leaders continued their song and eventually ended to a thunderous applause despite hardly having sung a word on pitch. The two men exited and were both handed a glass of champaign.

There was a time of further chatter. Christine proceeded to sip her single glass of white wine. Raoul continued to talk to others she didn't know. Meg was up and around the room making her rounds. The thought that she would be able to make this night a good one crossed her mind and a light smile came over her features. This could be a good night. This could still be a very good night. And at the end of this night she would go home with Raoul and he might just fall asleep before they got to anything. She would be tired after all of this kind of social carousel and she simply hoped that he would be too.

The Master Controller took the stage again and appeared to have three envelopes in his hand. Once in front of the microphone he held them up for everyone to see, "In here are our soon to be Spot Singers!" The crowded clapped loudly and a nervous excitement ran through the air. "For our first Spot Singer, we would like to give a big round of applause to our largest donor who has put ten thousand dollars down for our Cultural Arts Center: The Future Vice President, Mr. Phillip Tusk!" More applause and everyone acknowledged Phillip who was standing conveniently near the stage, a stale grin on his face.

"Like we were really surprised by that one." The Master Controller teased, "So, Mr. Tusk has chosen whomever is inside this envelope here." He pulled one envelope out from all the rest dramatically, then pulled out a slip of paper inside. At seeing what was written on it, he made a face as if confused, but finally finished, "Christine Gallagher?"

* * *

 **BUM BUM BUUUUUUM! Will Christine cave under the pressure? Will she excel and shock the crowd? And how will Erik react if he hears her voice? What do YOU think?**


	5. Chapter 5

**175 views of Chapter Four all on the first day! Thanks for reading and super big thanks for my reviewers of that chapte** **r QTpa2Tea, ErikizmaBae, Not A Ghost3, ItsAdangerousGame, and "Guest" ! I hope to hear from more of you if you feel so kind :)**

 **Hope you enjoy this chapter. It's time to buckle your seat belts :D**

* * *

 **Chapter Five**

Only three sets of eyes were felt on her and she felt them intensely pierce through her as if they were spears themselves. There must have been something wrong. There must have been something very wrong. This was not happening. There was no way.

"Christine Gallagher?" the man on stage repeated, a hand over his forehead to shield the light from his eyes to look into the crowd, "I'm sure Mr. Tusk didn't make a mistake."

"I didn't." said he and pointed into her eyes as if reaching her soul instead, "That's her."

If three daggers seem bad, several hundred more were beyond her imagination. She felt the color from her face drain, her stomach must have fallen straight from her body through the chair she sat on, and must be resting somewhere on the floor. The feeling in her arms was gone. The world was gone, she was ready to die.

Something touched her arm and a blurry version of Meg was beside her. "Christine," it said, "Christine, that's you."

Christine's vision was shaking with her head.

"Come on, honey, it'll be fine."

"Christine," Raoul was saying somewhere, "This is great, right? This is your chance to sing again and it's for a great cause."

"Oh," the Master Controller stumbled, "She looks a little shy folks. Can we give her some encouragement for this great cause?"

Slow, polite applause broke out and Christine thought she would drown in it. She wished she could drown in it. This couldn't happen. Her voice was gone, long gone, no more. There was a corpse inside of her and she intended to keep it that way forever and ever, locked away where no one else could even think to look for it.

Something was pulling on her elbow and she was standing, walking even. All sounds had faded, everything was bright and blurry. This couldn't be real, none of it. She floated to the stage and when her foot hit a stair something snapped in her.

"Meg. Meg no. No, no, no. You know I can't. I can't Meg." She was now gripping her friend's hands. Raoul stood on opposite side of her, but wasn't touching her and she almost forgot he was there at all. So many eyes were on her and the weight was crushing. She wanted to die right there and never have to feel such pressure again.

"It will be fine, honey." Meg said as reassuringly as she could, "You don't have to be good. Just speak the words. Just speak them."

"No Meg, no. No, _please_."

"You can do this, babe."

"No…" she whimpered as she found her way up the five stairs to the stage. Faces were blurring together under the lights and she felt the weight of every one of them. The heat was now hitting her senses. She would have forgotten to breathe if the man beside her hadn't said, "Christie?"

"What?" She gasped.

"Don't worry, unless you're a politician or a millionaire, they're not after you." The Master Controller said kindly, "Am I right?" He added into the microphone.

People clapped around them and Christine felt her senses come back so fast it nearly knocked her over. The primal instinct to run, even somehow fly off the stage was coming to her, but a gentle and firm hand came to rest on her arm, "Everything's going to be fine sweetheart," Christine looked at the middle aged man with greying jet black hair and hazel eyes, "Believe me?" She made no reaction and he squeezed her shoulder a little, "Okay?"

She didn't know what made her nod, but she did somehow. It helped to look at this one man instead of everyone else. She wanted to believe that he didn't mean her any harm, but she couldn't say the same for the vultures beyond her. Everyone was waiting.

"And what is she to sing Mr. Tusk? There are eight songs to choose from, folks. I somehow get the feeling this man knowns exactly what he wants to see here."

People were laughing somewhere before another strong cold man spoke, "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas."

Christine whimpered, so many memories flooding into her head at once. Her father. Her old favorite song. Those long rehearsals with various bands. His violin. Him.

"How nice!" His voice was so jovial. Why? "Short, sweet, and simple, right Ms. Gallagher?"

"Oh god,"

He sighed only loud enough for her and the orchestra to hear, "Let's just get this over with, okay?" He said into her ear and away from the microphone and she wasn't sure if he meant well or not anymore.

As she watched him leave, sound flooded her ears, and chimes followed by soft strings filled the air. She looked to the orchestra and realized they were going to play with her. How dreadful, she would sound so retched next to them! Their sound went up a familiar scale and down the same one and ended on a harmonized whole note that was going a little longer than what it was supposed to as bows went across their strings once move to hold the note out longer.

Without breathing Christine croaked out words.

 _"Have yourself a merry little Christmas."_

The rest of the world held its breath, but this time she didn't. This time there was enough memory of her inner workings to breathe.

 _"Let your heart be light."_

Her eyes slowly shut to avoid the bright lights, to put out all of those people.

 _"Next year all our troubles will be our of sight."_

Strings played on and she remembered what music was. A spark inside her began to glow white against the charred blackness that she had accepted for her feelings.

 _"Have your self a merry little Christmas._

 _"Sing the yule tide gays."_

Then there was honesty.

 _"From now on our trouble will be miles away."_

And suddenly nothing else was there.

 _"Once again as in olden days,_

 _"Happy golden days of yours._

 _"Faithful friends who are dear to us_

 _"Will be near to us_

 _"Once more."_

And finally it was personal for the only man she ever thought she would need from so long ago.

 _"Some day soon we all will be together._

 _"If the fates allow."_

One big breath to shatter all of the scars that held her together so tightly. Her eyes opened into the bright light before her, everything falling away, and suddenly there was nothing.

 _"Until then, we'll have to muddle through somehow."_

Then, all at once, the sound of the very voice she had forgotten, the build of the strings behind her, and the entire room came back to hit her very painfully. Her father was gone. The music was gone. She was gone, no longer free, but weighted right where she was, her dress suddenly weighing a hundred extra pounds her hair pins in too tightly, her feet swelling in the shoes. A huge part of her was dead. There was no future. There was nothing but all of the terrible people standing before her, faceless, soulless, nothing.

"So have…" she spoke away from the music and could only finish with, "Christmas…"

There was a silence. A long silence. Too long. Fight or flight came back and Christine was turning to all but jump from the stage when applause erupted from everywhere in the banquet hall. People who had been sitting were now standing. Everything was closing in. The sound was thunderous and it scared the young woman so terribly that tears were filling her eyes. It was too much and within mere seconds she had run from the hall altogether.

The applause continued for a little while before the Master Controller made his way to the stage again, but this time, he didn't seem to have much to say, instead he visited with the conductor of the orchestra where they spoke with big excited expressions.

"Well that was interesting." Phillip commented to his step brother after the young lady ran away.

"Shit. Holy shit." Raoul stuttered.

"Language little brother."

He pointed to where he last saw her "Should I…Should I go after…?"

"You're poorly hiding anything right now." His tone was cold, low, and heartless, "Leave her be. Maybe this will get her a job elsewhere, eh?"

"Oh."

He turned only slightly, Phillip's arm casually around Raoul's shoulders, and suddenly everyone seemed to be crowding their table.

"Phillip who was that young woman?" A senior woman in colorful rich drapes asked.

"I remembered her face from a summer job Raoul had while at Georgetown." The older man shrugged, "She wasn't afraid to sing back then. I don't know what happened."

"Is she looking for representation?" A salt and peppered hair man asked.

"She works for me." Raoul butted in.

"Don't tell me your a talent agent now?" The salt and peppered hair man teased.

"No, I mean, she has a day job with me."

"Just a job?" Someone asked.

"What made you bring her here?"

Raoul looked out to see a press badge on the man who had just asked the last question. He gulped and began to recite his planned speech for in case someone caught onto him, "She practically turned my office upside down in less than a year working for me and since I didn't have anyone else to bring, seeing as Phil is already here, I thought it would be a nice treat to invite her."

"And you knew her from a summer job?" The same man asked, "From when?"

"Back in college. She was singing with her father then and I remembered she was nice. It just so happened that she turned out to be a phenomenal office hand as well. Who would have thought?!"

"Well your secret is out of the bag now. Good luck keeping her from pursuing a different profession!" A woman joked, holding a glass of red wine proudly in one hand.

"Right, uh, yeah." Raoul looked sadly to his table and chose to sit down. This was not what he had in mind at all and he didn't know what to think of what Phillip had decided to do. Phillip was always working towards something in his head and was always so many steps beyond anyone else. How was Raoul ever to keep up with any of this?

V

No one wanted to follow the young woman out of the hall, no one else needed to. It would have been cruel to try and force her to speak to anyone else after such a performance and even vultures knew when to leave well enough alone. None of them knew her and they were willing to tolerate the second best thing in seeking out Raoul.

Erik was the exception to this. There was no politeness in his manners, no resistance to keep the usual distance from everything. Her voice rang in his head in a constant echo and the only way to turn it off would to hear her sing again. As she ran, he was already moving towards the same door as she. Even as she was half way down the entrance hall, he had slyly slipped over to the main door. Her young friend was calling out to her, but she was being waived off.

"Keep them away from me Meg! Keep them away!"

The young woman in pink, Meg, stopped painfully before turning around. Erik turned his body so that he faced a group inside of the banquet hall. Eventually Meg was back inside, a strong face covering her true anxiety-filled emotions. She did not notice who he was from behind and people immediately started to swarm towards her for questioning. The answer she gave them were very sly and he knew that if she was going to give a story on Christine, that it would be from her own hand.

Erik was quick to understand that Christine seemed to realize where she was going. He tracked her down the hall, to a side stairwell, and down two flights into a short hallway. Around the stairs was a bathroom, various stacks of foldable black chairs, and two doors on his left side. There appeared to be a hallway to his right, but it was dark. Besides emergency lights, most of the floor he was on appeared to be dark except for a sliver of white light that came from a slightly cracked door at the end of the hallway.

Slowly, he approached, but before being able to look inside, he heard a piano being plucked. The song reminded him of _Sous Le Ciel De Paris_ , but instead of having the time signature of a waltz, all of the notes were the same length and only the melody was played. This seemed like a strange choice for her to play, a strange action overall to run away to what appeared to be a large practice room only to note an entirely different song.

This young woman was intriguing him.

V

She felt a presence behind her before she could see or hear it. Her eyes closed painfully and she forced herself to keep her eyes on the keys.

"Please," She mustered out hoarsely, wiping at her stuffed nose for a second, "Whoever you are, I'd like to be alone for a little while."

"I like hearing you play."

She had recognized such a clear well spoken voice before, but she couldn't figure out just where. Her evenly split notes faltered a beat and she winced as if pained. The curiosity within her soon got the best of her and she was soon looking up to a masked man in the doorway. Her immediate reaction was to stand.

He held up a hand to her, "No need to get upset."

Faintly she wondered if this was part of Raoul's bargain, if she was now a part of it somehow. What else would he want from her? There was nothing else she could imagine, but her question came anyway, "What do you want?"

His tall, thin body was now leaning slightly on the door frame. She had always been intimidated by him on television and whenever she saw him pass through the hallways of the Capitol Building, but seeing him in person was so much worse. She suddenly felt so small that standing on her tip toes would have been an option if she weren't already glued to the floor at the baby piano.

"I told you I came to listen, didn't you hear me?"

"I heard you, Congressman Underwood." She presented as strongly as she could muster, her hands tight as fists.

"We have not met and yet you address me by name. It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Ms. Gallagher."

She noticed how her name rolled off his tongue so effortlessly, and still there was such meaning there that she couldn't place.

"I'm not any good at the piano." She began slowly, her next statement not intending to be rude, but more of something to admit, "I came here to be alone."

"Then be alone. I'll be here."

"But I can't-"

"Do not worry, Ms. Gallagher." He spoke softly, kindly, in a way she had never heard him speak before, "I will not bother you unless you allow me."

Knowing that she couldn't kick him out without drawing more attention to herself, and in full recognition that she shouldn't have been down there anyway, she took what she could out of the strange moment and sat upon the piano bench slowly. A heavy sigh came and just as her fingers touched the keys, she withdrew them.

"I'm sorry, it's not the same." She said to the piano and finished to herself, "I should go home."

"I'd rather you not." She looked up and witnessed his cool eyes seek hers. His eyes weren't piercing her, they were simply cool and curious. This was different from the terrifying man she was used to seeing on The Hill.

"Why not?" she finally asked.

He pulled his eyes away, "You intrigue me Ms. Gallagher and I'm not sure if I understand you or not. You make such a huge fuss on having attention being brought to yourself, nearly pass out in front of hundreds on your way up three thin steps, but when you sang, you appeared right where you needed to be."

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't play back this evening to me." She said, embarrassment in her cast down eyes.

"This isn't to mock you." She looked up to him, her eyes suspicious, "I'm curious, remember? Your singing, all of the technique was correct, your breathing, posture, the notes were exactly on pitch and yet, there was something lacking. Those twats out there may not have sensed it, but something was missing somewhere. I thought if I followed you I might find it."

Her eyes had begun to sting from the combination of tears and makeup. She quickly brushed anything under her eyes away and stuttered, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Clearly you do." He said dryly, "I'm very good at reading lies. I make a profession out of it."

Accepting that it was time to leave she closed up the keys, "I need to go." Her intent was to move towards the door but he was blocking it. A fear in her kept her from moving past him. He was far more intimidating than she could have ever imagined. There was no wonder for her as to why Raoul agreed to work for him. What now? Was she to be a slave too? To fall victim to this tall, intimidating masked man as so many in congress so often did?

They stared at each other a long while, their eyes meeting and never leaving each other. She relaxed a little, he became a little less of a feared creature. He was...just a man, right? An incredibly powerful, millionaire, and secretive man pulling all kinds of strings in congress. She should know better than to let him effect her in the same way that other members did. No, she would stand her ground...until she lost her breath and passed out, but that hadn't happened yet. Hopefully, it wouldn't... His eyes were so fascinating to her. It was something you can't catch on a television screen, perhaps it's the soul she saw. Still, there was something there to keep her attention and keep her from running...or passing out.

"I might be able to help you." Was what he said so quietly that she wasn't sure if words had come from his moving lips at all.

"What?" she gasped.

"I know what you're missing in your voice."

"I don't sing-"

"Clearly, you do. Don't tell me you didn't wake up tonight. That would be a lie."

"What do you know? You don't know me at all. This night was a mistake. I need to leave."

She took a step further and so did he to her. They stopped only a few feet away from each other.

"Perhaps I do not know you, but I do know music. Is there not a part of you that wishes you could be something more than what you are? Do you enjoy being a shiny new thing on Peter's arm or would you like to not require his employment? I could help you Ms. Gallagher, you simply need to let me."

He already knew too much. How much more was she willing to give him.

"And…and what would you seek in return?"

He crossed his arms casually again, "I'm not sure yet."

"I don't want any of your back handed deals," she bit back

"You say that in such a way…" His eyes narrowed, "I take it he's told you of our agreement."

"That's not what I-" She had already said too much. She had placed her employer in danger and tried to recover, "I - "

"Let's see how much you _care_ for him. I'll keep his secret if you agree to meet me after this night."

"What…What do you mean?"

"Purely professional, just as my relationship is for him. You see, my relationship with him will turn to be for both of our benefits even as he fears it will only be for mine. I only offer opportunity Ms. Gallagher. You entertain me for a little while in something besides politics and I will help you find that missing place inside yourself. Deal?"

"Entertain?" The word fell slowly from her lips.

"I'll have you know I don't keep many people in my close circle. I do not have people over to my house unless they are of importance to me. Are you not at least curious about the elusive Erik Underwood and how he lives to see his home?"

"I don't understand." Christine said slowly, her thumbs spinning around each other nervously, "You're willing to let me in, as you say, and you don't know anything about me. Why?"

"I know your voice and it reflects something I find of use to me."

"I still don't understand why…"

"You don't see yourself as anything special, do you?"

Her words were lost.

"You don't. You've let yourself believe you were nothing better than a servant to a pretty rich brat. How far that servitude extends seems to be beyond what I find attractive. He may have been given an easy life to coast on and perhaps eventually squander, but you are hardly in his class of people. So few are designed for greatness and those select few ought to seek each other out."

She looked up to him, noticing how much taller he was than her. There were lines on his face from wear and age. He must have been fifteen years her senior and while she had felt like a child in front of him before, there she stood strong. There was a sort of strength she could take from his eyes and it was something she seemed to return to him. Plenty of questions swam around her head, plenty of things that would all lead to the same answer from him. In the end, what was she to lose here? Even if she didn't believe that she was great, this man clearly believed in her to an extend that Raoul did not. It would be playing with fire, but Christine had already been burned, how much worse could this get.

"I'm not sure if I would want anyone to know. I don't want to come back to things like this again if I can help it.'

"I assure you that if you are to come back, you will not be the same person before them. You will have no need to be so afraid again. Don't you realize that it was not them you were afraid of tonight, it was yourself. It is natural to fear greatness when one knows it is within them, but I will not let such a containable emotion keep you behind again. You may trust me on this."

His lips were a thin line across his pale face. The smell of his aftershave smelled of dark spices and something relating to a bitter sweetness in her nose. His hair was perfectly smooth and pressed back on his head with gel making it shine lightly under the florescent lights. His eyes, eyes that she had always thought were gray, appeared to be slightly different shades. The eye under his mask was slightly bluer and his right eye was more gray.

When the feel of air left him only hit her lightly on her own face, she suddenly realized how close they had somehow become and she took a step back quickly, breaking their eye contact immediately. A connection was broken there and she turned completely, feeling her heart suddenly beat, recovering from not having been working for sometime it seemed. The sound of her dress rustling mixed with the buzz of the lights, and the light taps from her shoes. What was this magic?

She turned around and found that he had retreated a bit farther to the frame of the door again. He spoke quickly, seeming to recover for both of them, "I will be in contact with you shortly on when we can set up a time to meet again. You will not be seen, understand."

She wasn't entirely sure if he meant that as a question or not, but she agreed that the more secretive they could make these meetings, the better it would be for everyone involved. A new thought came to her, "You don't have my information."

To this he laughed, "How easy that will be to obtain." He looked back at her for just a moment, "It was a pleasure meeting you, Ms. Gallagher. I look forward to our next passing."

With that he was gone and it seemed as if a part of her had left too, but instead of feeling pain, she actually felt a little better inside, lighter somehow. After the night's events, to feel a little lighter was such a relief.

* * *

 **Thoughts?**

 **For Chapter Six, we'll be looking closer into what the public knows of Erik Underwood...however, as we all know, it's what the public *doesn't* know that makes a good story :)**

 **No updates on tumblr this week as I didn't see much more to depict. That said, if you'd like me to explain something or showcase something I haven't touched yet and you're confused about, let me know and I'll do a blurb!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A big thank you to those who reviewed: ErikizmaBae, QTpa2Tea, TheLostDisneyPrincess, Me, cotesgoat, and ItsaDangerousGame! Another thank you to those who have started following this story!**

 **This chapter has A LOTTO information on our characters. Sit tight. I hope it's not too dense?**

* * *

 **Chapter Six**

Hardly an hour after her friend's flight from the stage, Meg received a call from a number she didn't recognize. Curious as she always was for unrecognizable numbers, she picked up the call.

"Meg Barnes." She spoke into the pink I Phone C.

"Meg," she heard and knew the voice, "It's Christine. I'm using a janitors phone. Will you get my clutch from the chair and come out here with it?"

"Where are you hon?"

"Down the main hall and to the left next to the bathrooms."

"Gotcha, okay, I'll be right there."

"Thanks Meg."

"Don't mention it. See you in a second."

Wanting to check in on her friend as soon as possible, she nearly ran over to Raoul's table. He appeared to be having all sorts of fun with his now full table of various people who all laughed with him. She wasn't going to interfere with that, especially as they weren't supposed to technically know each other for business reasons. They shared a mutual relation and that was all. When she reached around the back of what was Christine's chair, Raoul saw her and stopped her.

"Where is she?" He asked, a touch of concern in his eyes.

"I'm going to give this to her and make sure she's okay. I think she needs some girl time right now."

"Will you please tell her to call me or something? I want to make sure she's all right." People were looking at him from his table and he finished up with, "My office would fall apart without her!" And they took the bait enough to laugh.

"Right," Meg agreed, taking the matching blue clutch with the silver chain for her friend. She went ahead a got their coats from a reservation desk just outside the room after she found Christine's ticket just inside the purse. Both big coats in her arms, she walked quickly down the hall and found Christine sitting against the wall in a side hallway, her dress spread all around her. Meg sat down next to her, placing the coat around her friend's shoulders for some comfort.

"You look like Cinderella with that dress." She commented and her friend smiled.

"I feel like her too." Christine sighed, "Maybe I should leave a shoe behind before I turn into a pumpkin."

"Well, if this constitutes as a shoe," Meg was holding out the purse, "I think I've already found you."

"That was easy." Christine laughed half-heartedly, "It helps when you have directions."

"And a GPS." Meg took another look at her friend before speaking again, "You okay? I figured you just need some time alone."

"I'll be fine. I remember coming here with my dad before. He knew of a practice room that they always keep unlocked downstairs. Who would have thought that after all these years, there it was still unlocked? I never thought of it this way, but it was like going back to see him somehow."

"That's…good," Meg commented slowly.

"It was, I think. God it's been so long since I sang anything, even humming. Maybe it's better that I got that over with. Too bad it had to be in front of so many crazy powerful and rich people."

"That's who you used to sing for anyway, right? They pay the bills after all."

"That's what Dad used to say."

They sat together in silence, just wanting to breathe and think for a moment. Meg was impressed by how calm her friend was being. Just an hour ago she was having a panic attack and now she seemed calm and clear as ever. Whatever she had come to in the practice room appeared to be good for her even if her make up was nearly all cried off. Meg was impressed by how well she had wiped it away without leaving smudges all over her face. She took her friend's hand and squeezed it lightly.

"How about we go hit up a Seven-Eleven for some ice cream? I'd say milkshakes but stupid DC doesn't have anything else open late."

"What is it with this city?"

"Beats me." Meg stood up, her hand still with her friend's, "Let's get out of here, yeah?"

"What? Are we really going to go to a Seven-Eleven looking like this?"

"You bet we are! Let's blow this pop-stand!"

They were laughing and holding hands as they ran out to hail a cab.

VI

Erik did not sleep that night. He had plans far beyond what he had originally thought possible. He wasn't completely sure how she would play into his succession of American political leadership, but she would. While it may not have been clear to her, he knew why he wanted her. There was something within her pleading to be freed and he would figure out how to let it out. She was so different from him. She had no desire for power or money, after all, she was living in poverty as far as he found out. Her life had been one of great trails since she was orphaned.

Through various forms of special clearance over the world wide web, he steadily found out every possible scrap of information available.

Full Name: Christine Joanne Gallagher

Birthday: February 28, 1989

Parents: Charles Nicolas Gallagher and Joanne Jones Gallagher

Birth Place: Albany, New York

It was even more useful that she was born in the state he represented. That allowed even further access to her files. She had been enrolled in over ten schools, never seeming to stay long. Her mother died in a car crash when she was seven. It appeared to be from an impaired truck driver late one morning. Charges were pressed, but fell apart in the justice system when costs grew too high and the company the man worked for could afford better representation.

After this, records of Christine and Charles were found all over the north east, a little in Canada, and some on the east coast. Charles made his profession working for various bands and orchestras. He played the violin mostly, could get by accompanying parlor singers on the piano, and would sometimes teach voice lessons if he were in town long enough. They appeared to stay in one place for three to four months at a time in the summers, one place for a holiday season that lasted from November to January, and hopped around between all other times.

Regardless of this, Christine always appeared to make good grades in whatever school she wound up in. Sometimes she would test far above average when on the outskirts of a city, then test relatively average when inside one depending on the state. She received Advanced Placement credits along the way, enough to give her some credits elsewhere. She appeared to have started at a few different community colleges, finishing finally on scholarship at the University of Maryland. Her majors had been scattered, none of them focusing in music. Her final major was vaguely in business administration.

When she was thirteen, Charles had been diagnosed with brain cancer. They continued to travel for a little while long, but eventually they settled in an apartment outside of Annapolis, Maryland. They stayed there until he died when she was seventeen, just four days after her birthday. From there, she stayed in the area, choosing to move to Washington DC only after getting employment from Raoul Peters. There was a time during this that there were many late payments on her rent until the lease was terminated. After this, her name did not show up anywhere for a few months. Every now and then there would be a hotel room or a camp ground, but nothing more. A car under Charles' name was sold later and she rented a one room basement apartment under a tiny house in Eastern Market. There, she had stayed.

Erik looked at the address again. It was only eight block from his own residence. She would soon know this, soon know just how close she had been to him for the past year and had never known or thought. That was how most people knew of him, though. He had found a row home that sat as a corner piece to two other homes. There were limited windows for any of them and his windows were tented both ways so that no one could see in or out. Besides that, and the professionally kept front lawn, his house did not look so different from any other. Lining his gates were olive trees to give him a bit more privacy. The last owner had planted them, but he found no issue with them and kept them.

Sometime around five in the morning, he had saved her number, email, and address into his phone. From here he texted her, _A pleasure meeting you yesterday evening, Ms. Gallagher. If you have no other restrictions in your schedule, I would like for us to meet this Monday at eight-thirty sharp._

Now there was only to wait for her response.

VI

When Christine had not decided to go home with him, Raoul was admittedly upset. She wasn't picking up her phone and was sparsely texting him back. There was something so unsettling about returning to his home alone that he absolutely dreaded. He enjoyed how in college he had a fraternity house filled with friends constantly buzzing with life even if it was simply playing a video game. He was too old and too rich to look for a roommate, there was only space for a family or absolutely close friend to be living with him under one roof.

While he wasn't sure just how he felt about this, he sort of liked it when Meg was extremely busy with a new project and could walk her own damn dog. That way, he was all that Christine had in the city. She didn't make friends easily, not because she was unlikable, it was that she was poor at following up with others especially when she didn't really like them. Raoul didn't have time to think of such things, instead he simply liked to have company around. He didn't need to make some deep special connection with everyone, he just needed everyone.

Before his TV, he flipped late night channels, settling on trying to catch up on the latest episode of _Game of Thrones_. He admitted he was very behind on the season. Various pictures of naked women just coming to the peak of love making flashed before his eyes. He thought of Christine and how she wasn't there. It's not like they had to have sex every night, but he wanted her around just incase the thought came up. He liked the way she closed her eyes, her sighs, the way she clutched the sheets.

Perhaps marriage would need to be sooner in his future. Something had to give. He wanted her with him. His hand had found its way to his belt and stayed there for a little while as he continued to watch the screen. The scene had flipped to two men doing the same thing. Raoul made a face and pulled his hand away. That was fine for them, but he wasn't into that.

A beer in his hand, the controller in his other, he fell asleep in a laid back arm chair in his living room only a few hours before the sun came up again. He was happy to have the rest of the day to sleep and watch football. Christine came to watch the game with him later and they ordered Chinese. He knew she wasn't interested in the game so much, but she slept on his chest and he was careful not to wake her. They were good again and he was going to keep it that way.

VI

After the ceremony, Christine and Meg had one of the best girls nights that they could remember. Following a quick stop at a the first Seven-Eleven they could find and asking the cab driver to wait for them, they made their way back to Christine's apartment where they quickly shed their dresses, fancy hair styles, and makeup, and changed into PJs. More cheap Barefoot Mascoto was opened, was accompanied by popcorn, Bagel Bites, and pretzels with hummus, and by the end of _Bring It On_ , _Ever After_ , and _Princess Bride_ , they were so well far gone and cried out that suddenly everything in the world seemed wonderful.

"Are you tired?" Meg asked, her feet tucked up on her friend's legs, her head comfortably on the biggest pillow in the apartment.

"I don't know." Christine was staring at the ceiling.

"I'm tired, but I'm awake, you know?"

Christine tried to look over to Meg and decided not to move instead. "Do you want to watch another movie?"

"No. I think. Wait!" She sat up, "Christine, dance with me!"

This time she looked to Meg, "What?"

Meg held her hands up, "C'mon let's dance!"

"Why?"

"Why not!"

"My head is sort of…"

"No don't say it, let's dance!"

The girls jumped up, Meg pulling Christine and once on their feet they swayed before steadying themselves.

"What about the music?" Christine asked quizzically.

"Oh right. Um…" She leaned down to Christine's computer where they had been watching he movies, "You have Spotify, right?"

"Yeah."

"Ermm okay just a minute…" Meg fiddled around on the computer.

A fast paced harp was heard and Christine's eyes lit up with recognition.

"C'mon Christine!"

And they were dancing to " _The Dog Days Are Over._ " Their dancing was more like jumping and spinning until finally the chorus came up and both girls were yelling rather than singing. Around and round they spun, jumping on the couch at times, using hair brushes and discarded toilet paper rolls as fake microphones they laughed their way until the end of the song where they soon found themselves passed out on the couch till midmorning when Meg had to run off to let out Cloe. Maybe, after all this, tonight would be one of the better nights of her life, Christine thought just before she fell asleep.

Once awake, Christine hazily looked and immediately hated everything involving light. Meg was gone and she faintly remembered them having a conversation earlier in the morning after a fire truck went by and woke them up. Water. She needed water. Sourly, she hoisted herself up from the couch arm and took herself to the kitchen to get the biggest glass of water she could find. Only half of it was drank before the need to use the bathroom grew too strong.

That business out of the way, she refilled the water to the top, took some IB Profin from the medicine cabinet in her bathroom, and sat back down on the couch. Feeling there was nothing else to do, she found her phone below a couch cushion, turning the light setting on the lowest she could, and opened her text messages folder. She felt the need to text Raoul, maybe see him that afternoon to show him that she was okay after running out as she had, but something else caught her eye.

There were messages between her and a number she didn't recognize from the previous night. Slowly, she opened the message chain and scrolled to the top.

 _A pleasure meeting you yesterday evening Ms. Gallagher. If you have no other restrictions in your schedule, I would like for us to meet this Monday at eight-thirty sharp._

It was from him. She closed her eyes for a second, trying everything within her power to muster up the courage to look at whatever she had sent him while completely out of her head. Finally, she looked to the screen.

 _Oh my dog you found me._

She already felt like an absolute idiot.

 _I believe I said before that it would not be too difficult to find your information._

 _But why? I don't get it and I don get you too._

 _Are you sober?_

 _No._

 _And you find this sort of entertainment amusing._

 _No. You don't know me._

 _You'd be surprised at that._

 _Gop.. No. Stop like that._

 _Feel free to respond next time you're of clear mind._

Her headache was almost cured by her anxiety filled embarrassment. Regardless of their interactions the previous night when she wasn't out of her mind wasted, she couldn't face him again. How in the world was she supposed to respond to that? How in the world was she supposed to meet with him or pretend that any of this was real ever again?

Nervously, she took her phone in her hands and steadily hit the key board. This had to be good or her life might as well have been over in all of DC.

 _Hello Dr. Underwood, I regretfully apologize for having so short sightedly responded to you this morning._

She paused for a moment. What year was she writing for again? Shaking her head, regretting that too, she continued on.

 _Eight-thirty on Monday would be in my availability for an appointment. Where would you like me to come to?_

She took a breath, and hit "Send." Leaning back, she did a heavy sigh. She had made the professional choice, though she slightly wished that he had told her he was no longer interested and left her alone. That way, all she would have to do for the rest of her life would be to shield her face to him whenever he passed the hallway. She felt like such an idiot. Would this affect Raoul too? What if he thought both of them were alcoholics now? What was worse…besides Raoul's career, why did she care so much?

There wasn't time to think before she heard a light buzz from her phone on the table.

 _Should I be within the belief that you handle your feelings the same way Raoul handles his? Perhaps that is what you two truly share in common and if that is the case, please decline my offer before I retract it._

Maybe she should decline? What if he would simply believe she was an alcoholic and leave her alone? That thought was a temporary comfort and she was thankful that he appeared to have a Droid instead of an iPhone so he couldn't see when she had read his response. A part of her wanted to wait for a long time to respond, but that was ruined when he suddenly responded.

 _It would be unwise for you to decline out of fear, Ms. Gallagher. I assure you I am willing to look past such "short sightedness" from this morning._

She wasn't sure if her heart had stopped beating or not. This man was clearly impatient. Half of her wanted to type back as quickly as she could, "I'm not scared!" but she thought better of it very quickly. With a sigh she replied what all she could say.

 _Where?_

 _250 12th St SE_

That was a lot closer than she had thought he would be. She tried to recall a mental image of his place from one of the walks she took when she had the time, but was drawing a blank.

 _Okay. I'll be there._

 _I look forward to our session._

Another text. She sighed with relief as it was from Raoul.

 _Want to watch the game with me?_

She was surprised he was awake and sober enough to write a full, grammatically correct, question. A half smiled and a reply.

 _Sure._

 _VI_

On Monday, Christine found herself inside her office during her lunch break. While some of the interns had actually reached out to her to go to lunch with them, she politely declined saying she had other work that needed to be finished. She noted that the interns seemed a lot closer to her age than her other office workers. Most of them were at least thirty or more and yet there she was in the highest position in the office next to Raoul Peters himself. It was strange and at first she was very hesitant to take any sort of lead out of possible disrespect, but after things started to fall short of her expectations within the first week, she began to take the reigns, just in a kind polite way. So far, no one had ever been rude or had challenged her on this, but she wasn't willing to stop and thank her lucky stars yet.

The entire day she had been distracted. That felt ridiculous. There was no way Underwood was letting thoughts of her get in the way of his work life. She wondered if she was a project to him, something for him to look at out of boredom between the day to day life as a politician. She began to wonder why anyone would become a politician and had asked Raoul this many times. He said it was to help people and it seemed to be something that would make his family happy. She wondered vaguely if she was making her father happy, but any further thoughts of disappointing him could not be thought of, especially after such a trying weekend.

While nibbling on a peanut butter and jelly on wheat, she typed "Erik Underwood" into her Google Incognito browser. Of course, and not to her surprise, pages and pages worth of links came up. She decided to filter the politics a bit. "Erik Underwood biography." A Wikipedia page came up first. That was filtered enough for now and she clicked on it.

A picture of Erik, a professional one with a plan gray backdrop and his mask on the opposite side of the emotionless, stone face.

 _Erik Alexander Wood (born _ - ) is the U.S. Representative for the state of New York's New York City district. He is a member of the Democratic Party and is one of few to have been so closely associated with the Independent Party during the electoral process, and is accredited with winning votes for not only both major parties, but from smaller minority parties as well._

 _He was first elected through special election in May of 2000 and has served as House Minority Whip from 2010 to present (2014). Underwood is accredited to be one of the few within politics to have risen so quickly within a short amount of time and is the second-ranking figure within the House Democratic Leadership hierarchy, second only to the current Vice President._

Of course this was all information she already knew. Christine scrolled down to the next section.

 _Early Life and Education_

 _On of the great mysteries to the public are the parents of Erik Underwood. He is one of the few who can say they were literally left on the foot of an orphanage. While his true birthday is unknown, it is recognized on the date that he was found at the Albany Children's Home in Albany, New York. His name was the only hand written clue to where he came from and had been pinned onto a blanket that held him. Besides the blanket, it is understood that a white half mask had been left with the baby as well, though this is understood to be an urban legend. When asked if he were ever interested in finding his mother he told the New York Times reporter, "I respect the decision my mother made and I do not hold it against her. It was within her rights as a woman to do what she believed best for herself and for me. Unless she chooses to reach out to me, I will keep our distance."_

 _Under the care of the Children's Home, Erik was originally sent to neighboring public school, Harper Elementary. Within a few weeks, it was understood by the orphanage that home schooling would be the best option. This was done not only due to immense bullying from local children, but also due to the intellectual potential Underwood held at a very young age. Through the assistance of the Children's Home, Erik received his G.E.D. at the age of fourteen, and quickly earned a full scholarship to various accredited schools including Harvard, Yale, Princeton, Georgetown, and Oxford._

 _During his eight years at Oxford he graduated with doctorates in Political Science, Engineering, and Phycology as well as minors in other various subjects. When questioned on his enormous amount of education, he said, "The best link to other people is education. If I am to listen and understand what they want, I need to know them."_

The article then went into his political career, the history of his elections, the leadership he held within the Democratic Party, but Christine kept scrolling down. She took note that he appeared to have made a fortune off of intelligent investments in multiple counties, practically coming up from nothing. Coming to the bottom she finally read the last section before the bibliography.

There were clear similarities that stood out to Christine. Words like _orphan, financial hardships, financial growth, odd jobs, relatively secret,_ and _quiet life_ stood out more than others. She found herself relating to these aspects and found it ironic that someone so different from her could, on paper, appear so alike.

 _Personal Life_

 _While being known as a man to stay away from the spot light, Erik Underwood is known to be a great supporter of the arts, women's rights, and the environment. His public outings can be expected to circle around these subjects. It is known that he has a residencies in New York City, Washington DC, London, and Tokyo. Besides this, Underwood is known to have a quiet life away from the spot light and dramatic world of politics. He has never married, never been seen with men or women, and has no family to speak of. It is believed that he will leave his estate to the interests he kept in charities._

This night was going to be something else entirely.

* * *

 **I hope I didn't put too much product placement in this chapter? Once again, I don't own anything, nor am I being paid to write any of it...it would be nice if I were...no, no, okay, moving on.**

 **Feel free to check out the capitolintent DOT tumblr - I talk a bit more about the neighborhood that Erik and Christine live in (for anyone who likes that sort of thing). If you're ever confuse on DC-isms that I may not go into full detail within the story, check out the tumblr as I'm trying to clear things up!**

 **Your reviews are the BEST they make me so excited *hint hint* :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**471 hits on chapter 6! So exciting to see! Thanks for those who are favoriting and following. A BIG thank you to my reviewers of chapter six: MaJuLiSaMi, Guest, ItsADangerousGame, thelostdisneyprincess, QTpa2Ti, Erikizmabae. Thank you thank you thank you :)**

 **Here's a nice long chapter for ya!**

* * *

 **Chapter Seven**

Erik hadn't remembered the last time a Monday had been so long. By the time it finally reached one o'clock it may had well been one year later. His usual interests were turning into annoyances and he snapped at a few of his staff that day, finally deciding to tell them not to bother him unless it was an emergency. It was more for their sanity than his.

On a private search he continued his look into this young woman's life. Even from all his resources he found nothing to mark her record. She had massively slipped through any cracks she could find. There were no videos of her and hardly any pictures. It appeared that she, like him, had somehow missed the digital age of Facebook, Twitter, or even blogs.

Photos under her name showed women he did not recognize. Finally he typed in Charles Gallagher and a few pictures popped up of a man holding a violin. This man had kind eyes, wrinkles, and wore a cheap black suit that he appeared to be taking great care of. He was seen in different reception halls of both high quality and low quality functions. It was in one of these pictures that a blonde haired girl stood just beside him and appeared to be mid note in the word of a song. Her eyes were closed and she seemed to smile into the music.

It became clear to Erik that the girl in this picture and the woman he had met were now two very different women. Something had happened to break her, to destroy her. Another picture showed the girl and Charles playing the piano together at another function. They looked into each others eyes with so much heartfelt emotion that it might as well have been an advertisement for love itself. Those eyes were dead now, he figured that the light in her eyes had died with her father's very soul.

Erik admitted he had never known such emotions. At a low point, a past component accused him of having no feelings whatsoever. Of course that only made the man look more powerless to have to result to points that had nothing to do with politics. Still, the American millennia generation seemed to care about such things and they would, somehow, be the ones that would rule the country one day. God, that was terrifying. When the decision between an electoral candidate and whether to get a Pumpkin Spice Lotte had the same weight, there was definitely something wrong with the world.

Nonetheless, Erik couldn't let any of this distract him any further. There was work that needed to be done regardless of whether the thought of having Christine Gallagher alone with him that evening made his heart beat faster than it ever had in years.

VII

Meg sat with a pink pin sticking out from her mouth as she read the online comments from her newly published article. The words "gossip column" came up more than once and she was waiting for her boss to talk to her. This was not how she wanted things to go. Up until this point she was in charge of meeting interesting people and having way too much fun doing it. She was only doing what she knew and so far the public hated it.

This new position already wasn't sitting well.

 _Have you read it yet?_ she had texted Christine an hour before.

Finally, her phone had buzzed, _I like it a lot! How did you figure out how to get such personal stories from people? That's a talent!_

 _So…you don't think it sounds like a gossip column?_

There was a slight pause between texts which made Meg take the pen out and start tapping it on her desk.

 _I think it's just different from what they're used to. You're a good writer Meg! Don't worry so much about it ;)_

 _Thanks :)_

As wonderful as it was to have Christine as a friend and as intelligent as she was, reporting was not her world. Things could get cut throat if she wasn't careful and missing the point of an assignment could be crucial. Meg took a nervous breath and let it out, only hoping that this wouldn't be as bad as her mind brought it to be in her head.

She thought about her time at the Harold, about how she didn't really like her boss, how she believed that personal relays could add to the facts and how the paper wasn't too crazy about that. This job had been a god send straight out of college even if it had landed her in a city as out of the ordinary as DC. Two taps on the door.

It would be the chief editor. Him coming two hours before the end of the official day was a good thing. He only let people go in the last thirty minutes. This meant she would be given a lecture and a new story. She could handle that. Christmas was in four days and she got the day off this year. That would be nice.

VII

To say that she hadn't looked up what his house looked like on Google Maps a few hours prior would be a lie. There wasn't anything that had appeared to had changed, not even the growth of the trees.

The house itself was larger than the houses next to it. Still only two stories, it had dark windows on its sides, a black iron fence around a simple, but manicured yard, and a driveway on the side opposite of the street. It was a brick house, painted a deep navy blue, and otherwise did not stand out whatsoever from the houses. Olive trees lined the fence in the back yard, oak trees filled and concealed the yard and windows in the front. This house may have easily been older than those around it. Christine wondered how long it was his considering that when he first started in congress this neighborhood would not have been remotely safe for someone such as him to live in. Now however, it was fine enough.

A black framed solid oak door stood ominously before her past the brick walkway. In comparison to the lightly painted homes nearby with smaller foliage, this house would easily be hidden unless one was looking for it, yet there it was, waiting just for her to enter. A chill that couldn't be attributed to the cold night ran through her body.

Despite the snow that was beginning to fall, the cold that was surely turning her nose red, and the fact that her presence outside of this house might look very strange if anyone were to notice her, she stood out on the side walk for a long time just staring at the normal house. The buzz of her phone brought her back to life. It was a reminder that she had an appointment with "EU" in ten minutes. Should she go in early? She was always prompt for meetings, but should she be prompt for this?

From the outside it appeared as if all of the lights were out and she wondered if anyone was home. In other houses near by it was obvious where people were even if a curtain had been drawn. What if she had the wrong house? She checked the notice from her phone and looked up to the address number near the door. It was the same. So long as he had told her the correct address, she was at the right place.

What if he had forgotten? What if this were not important to him whatsoever? Who was she to think that he really had time to give to her? He was such a busy person! She thought about going home. She _seriously_ considered going home. Was it possible to ignore a person forever? To pretend they were invisible until they moved on with a life somewhere away from her? She would have to move away from Washington. She couldn't show her face again. She'd have to break up with Raoul too and she was so bad a getting into conflicts with others.

She hadn't noticed the front door open and the voice that came from it nearly scared her to death.

"I would prefer it if you stopped bringing suspicious attention to my home." He said curtly.

Her mouth opened slightly, but no words were coming through the dry air.

"Will you be coming in or leaving? My offer closes with this door."

"No, I'm coming." She piped up.

"Then come in before I let more snow into my house."

Her eyes widened for a second before pointing her head down and pressing forward down his brick pathway and into his house. He had been holding the door open for her and once she was through the arch, the door closed without him having to push it. For a moment she took in her surroundings. She was in a gray hallway and there were stairs before her that curved to the right once reaching the next level. The floor was made of long rich and thick wood panels. A kitchen was beyond the stairs, what looked like a living room was before her just past the door, and there was a light coming from an open room behind her, but she didn't want to take the time to turn away from him.

For a moment, the two simply stared at each other in the dimly lit hallway. Christine was completely unsure of how to proceed. Should she take off her coat? Leave it on? Take her purse off of her arms? _What_? Eventually, she just broke the eye contact and looked slightly past him into a modern and sleek living room comprised of light grays, whites, and black leather furniture.

"There are hangers for your coat and purse behind you." He motioned to them with his eyes and she turned. to see metal prongs emitting from the wall. When he spoke again, she turned back to him, "I have a fire lit in the Study. We will discuss there." She turned to where the flickering light was coming from behind her. Before being able to make any assessments, he moved past her and spat, "No more standing in my hall!"

Christine shed her coat as quickly as she could while still being efficient enough to not feel even more awkward. After hanging her purse first and her coat over top of it, she followed him into the Study. This room was nothing like the modern room she had seen on the opposite side. This room was completely covered in sleek wood with inlets for books that covered the three walls before her from floor to ceiling except for the window that showed the small yard out front. On the inside wall was a very large fireplace made of black marble that shined even brighter from the well kept fire inside. Under the window was a large black leather couch where thick suede curtains stood proudly behind it. On the farthest side was a big black desk with a matching chair behind it, and in front of the fire was a large black leather arm chair what looked far more used than the couch. A few books sat on a small table beside it.

"Not what you were expecting?" His voice distracted her and she found him with a hand over the back of the arm chair.

"No I, well, I wasn't expecting anything really."

He looked around the room, "This was the only room in the entire house that I didn't have to completely remodel due to decay and formally disgraceful tenants. The classless people must have seen no use for a library, whereas, I do."

There was a part of her that wanted to give him a compliment on the room, part of her that wanted to express that she appreciated classic taste, but no words came from her. She instead let her eyes naturally drift to the fire.

"I prefer customary heat." He continued, "I designed the house to embrace the heat from the fire place. Even if I am of wealth, I choose to not let the parasites at PEPCO have me."

Christine recounted the days over the past summer where she went without air conditioning from the bills getting too high and thought how strange it was for a millionaire to have the same annoyances. Her facial expression must have changed for he continued.

"You cannot honestly tell me that they're after money from those of less income. They survive off of the wealthy in this city pumping outrageously different temperatures from the outside into their town home mansions. The poor are more of a collection of allowances in comparison."

"I never thought about it that way." She commented, still looking into the flames.

He moved forward to look at a large painting that hung right over the mantel. His interest in it drew her to it as well.

"Do you have interests in art, Ms. Gallagher?"

It was the first time he had said her name. The words once again flowed over his tongue like a pleasant song and she wanted to hear him say it again, only to understand if such pleasant tones could be heard again.

"I think I've seen this one before." She recalled seeing a painting of men on horses that were ready to run into the early morning. It was the musky coloring that stood out to her and she peered into it trying to remember.

"Do you frequent the museums?" he further implored.

"When I can. Did you lend this piece to one of them?"

"No," he answered simply, "This is the original and a very well made copy hangs in the National Portrait Gallery. This happens sometimes, you see. Most people can never tell the difference unless they are an expert. Many unknown and relatively unoriginal artists can support themselves by making copies of other works. This original, titled Fired On by turn of the century artist Frederic Remington, was expertly copied by a relatively unknown painter in Cincinnati. "

She looked at the horses and men who were taken from an old western scene as they prepared to turn and flee. There was such clear and unrepressed fear in the eyes of these beings and even the dawn was not being depicted in any sort of hopeful way. Taking a step back from it, she changed her sightline back to him. His white mask also seemed to shine in the fire as the marble did.

"Why this painting for your study?" she asked forwardly, feeling like such a painting would bring her grief in a work setting.

"You don't find such expressions inspirational, Ms. Gallagher?"

She looked at him for a moment and thought she saw a light flicker of humor behind his slightly different colored eyes. Turning away from him and back to the painting she said quietly, "There is so much fear. Even the horses are scared. I would want to work next to something that represented strength and hope. Otherwise, what would keep me from feeling as if I were ready to run as well?"

He didn't move, "I prefer looking into what I never want to be, rather than looking into a societal expectation. Emotions will come and go and I would rather be out here than in this picture."

She wasn't sure if he was insulting her on this, but finished in saying, "That's a very deep perspective, Dr. Underwood. An answer I would imagine coming from someone with a degree in phycology."

Erik seemed to chuckle half-heartedly to himself. He motioned to the couch behind her, "Sit, please."

Turning slowly, she did as he requested and immediately began to feel a pit of nerves grow in her stomach. When she looked up again, the feeling she had of him watching her closely was justified by the sight of his eyes upon her. He was standing next to the arm chair again, sliding his hand along the top of the back, then slowly taking a seat and lacing his hands over his otherwise open-appearing body language.

"As much as I would enjoy speaking on the subject of art further, I feel our conversation ought to turn in another direction."

He seemed to wait a long time and Christine responded out of anticipation, "I'm listening."

"Good. You _will_ listen. But first, inform me, exactly how much do you know about me, Ms. Gallagher?"

VII

Erik had been waiting by his window an hour before eight-thirty had come. There was a a long thin couch that sat right at the window of his Study that was hardly used as he preferred his arm chair in the center of the room. The seat wasn't comfortable to him and he didn't like being so close to the outside, but he had to see her approach. He wanted to see if she had changed somehow, if he had been wrong and would need to decide to throw her away before entering.

It had begun to snow. The weather reports were calling for a storm to hit Washington straight on in the early hours of the morning. He wondered how she would approach. Would she be in a taxi, maybe? Or perhaps she would be taking the bus from somewhere else in the city. Practically speaking, she lived less than a mile away from him. There was something warming to him to know that.

Around eight o'clock Erik began to realize how cold it may seem to a normal person. He quickly made a fire. It immediately began to blaze and warmth began to fill the room. There was a part of him that stared into the blaze that somehow hoped this ancient form of warmth would be pleasing to her. It was easy for him to forget things like touch and temperature changes. Such humanistic weaknesses were not of interest to him.

Back at the window, he recalled a clock chiming the third quarter of the hour from the kitchen. As if cued, a skinny young woman with a pale complexion walked slowly to the gate in front of his house. She was wearing a navy blue pea coat with a big black scarf and matching black mittens. The woman looked down and pulled a phone from her pocket. Erik could see snow sticking to her hair that shined gold in the street lights. She looked up and squinted. She was checking the address of his house, looking back at her phone, then looking up again. For a few minutes she looked all around, as if trying to take in something that mattered.

The minutes ticked by and Erik became flustered. There was nothing interesting going on out there, so why wouldn't she simply walk up to the door? Was she so confused on how to match numbers to numbers that she had to think so hard? She was going to make the neighbors start wondering things. There could be no more of that and when he opened the door he was almost surprised that it didn't come off its hinges.

Some words were exchanged, but she was quickly inside. She looked around for a few moments, not in a prying way, but something more out of interest. He watched her and realized a bit too late that their focus had become shared on each other. She turned away, he offered for her to hang up her belongings and join him in the study.

She was taking longer than he would have liked and when she finally stepped into the room with him, time seemed to slow for him again, this time in his favor. She was wearing a light gray v-neck sweater over black slacks. A gold locket hung from neck and she fiddled with it compulsively, nervously. Her eyes traveled his study, finally stopping on him and he began to press her lightly for information on her thoughts. When things began to move in a casual direction that wasn't exactly what he desired, he had her sit before him.

"Inform me, how much, exactly, do you know about me, Ms. Gallagher?"

The young woman froze before him and his curiosity grew as to how she would react in comparison to other subjects he had cornered in the past. No, this was different. He didn't want her to feel forced to be with him. He had forced the attentions mercilessly from countless people of different statures in the past. This girl was clearly afraid of everything, perhaps even herself, but for some reason that he couldn't place, he didn't want her to fear him. It was something in her eyes, something beyond the clear blue that others were not able to see. There was more in her than she would let show and that was of interest to him. It was like cracking a shell without breaking the nut, delicate, yet done with the right amount of force.

"I…" She started and soon looked away from him to the floor, "I guess I know as much as anyone else would."

"Not necessarily. I'm sure that if you were to go to Eastern Market on any clear weathered Saturday that hardly half have even heard my name. Or perhaps you have schooled yourself more than that? I have to force Raoul to do such homework for he is a lazy child. Are you a child, Ms. Gallagher?"

She made a face as if insulted and quickly answered, "Okay, I know more than the average person then. You're a politician, a whip for the democratic party in the house of representatives. Someone who keeps to themselves, but goes to functions when necessary. You were rumored to be the next Secretary of State, but aren't. And I know you're an orphan. That's what I know."

The flicker of fire in her answer was intriguing. She had done her research and he ruled her out from being a fool. Still, it wasn't enough to earn outright respect.

"Wikipedia is a useful resource, I've been told. Wouldn't you think so, Ms. Gallagher?"

"I wasn't given a lot of time before our meeting," she spoke through her teeth.

He shrugged, leaning his weight against the arm of the chair behind him, "Your knowledge is good enough."

"Have you found anything on me? If you are considered under the radar, I must be invisible." She said this casually, but the way her voice shook told further truth.

"Not when one has the right resources." He leaned forward as if this were some secret, "It helps that I represent your birth state."

If bricks had been near by, he was sure that she would have attempted to build a literal wall right there and he was prepared to take each brick that she put between them. A little of the red color she had collected from the cold outside was fading from her cheeks and leaving even paler white skin as it went.

"What all do you know?" She spoke just above a whisper. She was tense, perhaps terrified about something, trying to hide something.

"Surprisingly not that much." He said that in hopes she would relax, however she did not, her shoulders remaining just as knit, "You are correct in your invisible abilities. I know you are twenty-five, that you have been without a legal parent since you were sixteen. Your grades were above average, though you never embraced a serious college. You stayed in Annapolis some time, then Baltimore, but soon disappeared. When you reappeared you were working for Raoul Peters as a paper pusher and now you're the head of his office within one year. I bet you were thinking you found your calling, didn't you?"

Her eyes had narrowed. She was angry about something. This was all public knowledge if people did the right amount of research, he simple had an easier route of obtaining the information.

"It's not a 'calling.'" She clipped, "It's a job."

"How exciting," He rose his visible eyebrow.

"What's the point of this? I didn't come here to have my past brought up then be insulted for it."

"And wouldn't it be pleasant to never be accused of paper pushing, or even to take a step farther, to never be accused of sleeping your way to being head paper pusher?"

She stood, "Is this part of that disgusting deal you have with Raoul? Is that it? I don't see what you want with me except to try and break him. But the fact is, I need to keep my job and if I know one thing about you it's that your a politician and politicians are untrustworthy at best!"

"You say this from personal experience." It was not a question.

She breathed heavily and didn't lose their eye contact for a second, "You're right. Raoul can be very childish, or really, he never wanted to leave the fraternity. But for now, I need to keep my job and my house. It's not much, but I'm not going back. And it wasn't always like this either. You already know too much. I don't want to let you in on anymore just because I can't talk circles like you can."

She made a move to leave, but he stopped her, "What if I gave you an option outside of the office?"

Turning back to him she said angrily, "I don't do under the table deals."

"But it's a tempting one, I assure you." He stood and went back to the mantel, touching the frame of the painting with a few fingers before looking back at her, "You say you do not want to go back, how about a step forward? He may be wealthy, but what I offer is more than financial security."

"What?" She snapped, hardly turning around. He realized he need to reel her back in.

"I will give you life back, Ms. Gallagher. What is more valuable than a life?"

He could tell that his words were affecting her, but he couldn't tell in what way. She spoke slowly, "Life is survival." He wished to continue, but she ended instead, "Isn't it?"

His eyes turned to the painting before him, "Life, my dear Ms. Gallagher, is avoiding this." His mismatched eyes returned to the inquisitive young woman before him, who stood and swayed, her arms heavy by her sides. "Clearly, you haven't been. What's worse is you can't honestly even consider yourself riding your own animal. It appears to me that you are the one being driven."

Her eyes flashed to the fire and her body turned toward it to feel the heat. One of her hands went up to hold her other arm. Shadows danced over the curves of her hardened face. "Are you going to tell me that my hardship has been small compared to others? That children in Africa are starving or something? In your metaphor, I have no money for my own horse."

"I see no point in the association to starvation in third world nations. They were granted the life they are bound in whereas you have a chance to be unbound. My question lies with whether you will take this opportunity or not."

Her eyes slowly dropped to the flames and her face was blank to him. Fear was not radiating towards him, there was an impression that he couldn't place. Brokenness? But with clear thought and meaning. What was it about her that was so interesting to him? She was so easily lost to the rest of the world, so easily trampled and forgotten…but he could not forget this. This had never happened before with anyone, he had never cared.

"When you say opportunity," she quietly said, her voice nearly being lost in the crackling flames, "What exactly do you mean?"

"Would you care to sit back down, Ms. Gallagher?" He motioned to the couch again with a sweeping motion, "And I'm afraid I have not been a good host." He was back at his desk going into the compartment that held drinks and glasses. He took out two wine glasses. "Perhaps you would appreciate a drink as well?"

She was still holding her elbow with her opposite hand, "I don't want you to think that…" There was shame, possible embarrassment about her, but she looked straight to him defensively, "I don't drink often. I really don't, it's rare. Raoul drinks….a lot. Probably too much. I don't. I hardly see my friend because we're so busy and I should have turned my phone off."

"Yes," He began to pour both of them a glass of rich colored red wine and she winced, "The journalist, correct? Normally I would say such flights around a room that the person would clearly be desperate of social advancement, but I admit the way she worked for a story was impressive, even if it was ultimately gossip."

Christine made an uncertain face as Erik walked to her with a glass held out in front of the flames.

"Consider this a social drink, then." He held it out to her for a very long time, waiting until she took it, not allowing her to say anything else. She stared at the liquid, not bringing it to her lips. He wanted her to drink, wanted to see her reaction to his tastes and so he continued, looking at his own glass, yet keeping her in his sight line, "This wine can only be made from a rare grape that only grows on the side of a mountain in Chile. Incredibly rare and takes twenty-five years to ferment before it's sold. You can smell the trees that surround the mountain side within the it."

Following his cue she lifted the glass and inhaled. She was like prey to him, but not the kind that he wished to kill. It was like watching something from outside of an enclosure and all he could do was try to channel enough combined energy between them to have her see him from beyond the reflection of the glass. His thoughts to control her actions came alive before him as she slowly lifted the glass to her lips and drank. Something about her. There was something about her that begged to be observed.

"What do you think?" He all but purred.

The young woman looked up to him suddenly, as if scared, then her eyes showed skepticism. He covered himself by turning away, walking back to his desk, and leaning on it to appear far more at ease than he actually was. Dropping the question entirely, he moved on, "I believe I requested you sit, Ms. Gallagher."

She turned to look at the couch, but stood longer staring past it than moving to it. He followed her gaze, "They're calling for a white Christmas, you know. I assume you celebrate."

Her head turned back to him only slightly, "I used to."

"You don't anymore, then?"

"I was asked to celebrate this year. I might, though I'm not any good at accepting gifts. It seems weird."

"Noble." He sipped his wine and savored it on his tongue.

She moved to sit down on the couch again and finally turned around to him. "What is this about, Dr. Underwood? The subject keeps changing."

"My mistake," He spoke to his wine as he twirled the glass in his hand, "How do you like your employment under Representative Peters?"

Her response was defensive, "I don't see what that has to do with this conversation."

"I'm asking if you had a choice, would you move from your current position to one of more interest?"

"Please get to the point, Dr. Underwood." He could tell her patience was getting very thin and he found it interesting that she didn't appear to be snapping at him out of fear of being cornered, but simply out of impatience. This was different from what he was used to.

"You may be aware of my patronage in the cultural arts both nationally and abroad. In my time outside of politics I have been directly associated with some of the most successful performance venues and galleries in the country. Regardless of my money being part of this, my consultation is highly sought after. So much so, that it is considered a high and expensive honor to receive my opinion. This is to say, that those of high caliber would agree that there is merit to my knowledge."

The look on her face was very pained. Her hands were very tightly wrapped around the larger part of the wine glass and the liquid remained untouched from her first sip. He recounted that he never got her opinion on if she liked it or not. There was no certainty for him on the evaluation of whether or not water seemed to be building the corners of her eyes, so he pressed on.

"I offer you greatness. I offer you a chance to hone your talent, to bring it out from where you've kept it for too long." He looked down to this glass of wine, taking in the smell of the grapes before continuing, "And I want you to use your voice only for me."

Their eyes met and there was clear confusion on her face. Her head began to shake back and forth slowly.

"Do not answer so quickly without real reason, Ms. Gallagher."

"I never want to sing again." She said so fast that the words were jumbled. She was trembling.

"You were under that impression only a few days ago. Clearly something within you can be swayed otherwise."

"I'd rather forget that happened." Her head hung low, "I need to forget that happened."

"Why?" his ultimate question.

"It's easier not to feel…anything."

* * *

 **For a shot of "Fired On" check out my .com...and/or leave a review :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**This chapter is a bit shorter, but hey, the last chapter was longer. A big thank you for those who have followed, favorited, and to my 3 reviewers from the last chapter** itsADangerousGame, Grandma Paula, and MaJulLiSaMi.

 **On another note, while seeing that there is traffic to this story, it seems that people out there are enjoying this story. Originally I was going to post 3 parts to this story (30-50 chapters), but seeing as this hasn't received as much interest as I hoped it would, I may end up only posting part 1 and moving on. If you're out there and want me to keep posting, it truly means a lot to let me know, otherwise, I'll wrap this up in about 10 more chapters.**

 **Happy American Thanksgiving this week!**

* * *

 **Chapter Eight**

 _"It's easier not to feel…anything."_

Christine's words hung in the air as if they had been smoke in a heavily room. She could almost see her words lift and fall with what little air was stirring from the flames dancing over wood in the fireplace. The words may not have been a real confession, as to those who could sense her phycological conditions were sure to be able to predict such feelings, or lack of feelings thereof. She had merely stated an obvious truth, a lack of color or interest or that feeling of being lost that was always behind her eyes ever since her father had died. This was nothing new. This was what her life was and she had accepted it.

At some point during this, the distance between them had closed. His glass of wine was empty on the mantle, hers was still full in her hands. The wine was very strong for her tastes, nonetheless, she was not willing to let herself loosen next to anyone she didn't already know. Nor did she consider this stating of the obvious as any sort of weakness or interesting feature of her inner feelings. She did not feel any closer or any more inferior to him and yet somehow he had gotten literally closer and was sitting next to her on the couch.

When life came back to the present, she slowly looked over to him as he was sitting gently on the opposite side of the couch. His eyes were not cruel, as she had thought them to be before. His hands rest lightly on his knees and she realized how long, thin, and pale they were. A thick gold ring with a black round jewel in its center was on his smallest right finger. Her own eyes traveled from that ring and to his face, trying to avoid letting the white glowing mask distract her vision.

"How convenient it would be," he started quietly, "if we humans could simply stop feeling. Strange as it is, besides our evolutionary gains, we cannot."

Remembering what she had read about his early life, the fact that he had to wear a mask even in the modern age where deformities could be looked beyond with medical technology, and the strides that he had made beyond all of this came into her personal realization.

"You seem to hide yours pretty well." She admitted.

"With practice," he half-heartedly let himself chuckle, "With much practice. Perhaps that is all you need."

"What?" She let herself smile for a wink of a moment, "For 'greatness' you mean?"

"Practice, yes." His voice became clear, "To practice that vocal instrument of yours."

She looked into his eyes and asked seriously, almost coldly, "And then do what?"

"Live."

They looked at each other for a long time, not quite seeing what they wanted to in each other's eyes, but feeling as if they were close. She was wondering just how a stranger could claim to fix her and he was wondering if somehow she could do the same for him. His compositions had become so dry, so boring, but the concept that she might rise to the occasion of singing them would turn everything else around.

Suddenly, he was on his feet and she was startled.

"Let me show you. Let me show you what I mean."

She noticed a kind of awakening within him. There was a lightness to his step as he trotted past the fireplace and leaned down to something beside it. From beyond her sight, he pulled a violin case, took it to the desk, and opened it carefully there. The sight nearly pained her as it was too familiar to see a strong man take out such a fit and lean instrument. She wanted to stop him, wanted to tell him that she didn't want any of it, that it would be too much, but just as she painfully opened her mouth to speak, music was coming from the connection that the bow made with the strings.

And the sound was beautiful. Devine. Perfection.

The song was unknown to her, but the notes were so incredibly filling that she was brought to speechlessness. Her body was suddenly melting away in the couch, the cold glass that held the thick wine was placed beyond her without her recollection. Sight fell away, physical touch was gone, nothing was left on her lips, and the only thing she could conceptualize was the sound of pained whole hearted beauty being played to her. Her mind that had been brought to such a quick and fleeting place was silent, allowing her to feel without the corruption of the mind to distract her.

There was a trance in this music, a trance that she had only felt on few occasions when her father was at the height of a particular emotion. There were times when he could not speak after her mother had died and so he played on and on until his bow fell from his hands and he was left gasping for breath on the ground. Whenever she heard it she would also fall and sob with him, would want to comfort him, but knew she could not and so she would hide where she could, trapped to a mask of beauty that covered the most terrible of truths.

As suddenly as the music had begun, it was stopped. The sound of her breathing quickly became aware to her, the fact that her eyes had shut made her open them, and her fingers were drawn to her face to collect stray tears that had escaped from somewhere deep inside of her. She found that her eyes were cast to the floor and she swallowed as best she could to try and bring a healing moisture back into her throat.

"Pain is all you feel," This man beyond her said deeply, "but that will pass. All emotions can lead to something handsome. You need to embrace them. I offer you the ability to feel again and all I need from you in return is your voice."

Tired and without emotion she asked, "Take it then. I don't want it."

"Such a gift cannot be thrown away so easily. You will sing for me, Christine, and sing for me only."

She looked up to him and suddenly felt vulnerable after hearing him address her by her first name, "Why would you want that? I'm no good-"

"Stop." And with wide eyes, she let her mouth close, "You will no longer self critique on this matter. You will no longer talk yourself down as you have grown so accustomed to doing in the past. If your voice is to belong to me, and only I am to say anything of it."

She waited to be certain he was done before speaking, "And what will I do? You said I should quit my job?"

"Yes, that would be necessary." He quickly continued, "I will pay you double the amount that you are being paid now and supply you with proper insurance so that your voice is well protected. You will give further attention to your health, your sleep, and what you eat, and at night you will meet with me to sing."

"And will this be…contracted too?"

"Verbally, yes."

"And what if I change my mind?"

There was a moment of stale silence where the last embers of the fire cracked their way through charred wood.

"You will lose _everything_."

His answer had been so dark, so serious, and hopeless that her breathing picked up and she slide slightly back on the couch. Her mind was already jumping to the conclusion that this far in, she no longer had a choice. She looked at possible exits around her and found him uncomfortably near the only one as he had moved in front of the fire, blocking her in shadow. Suddenly she was feeling like prey, feeling cornered for the kill.

"What about Raoul?" She chocked out, "I can't leave the office right now. It would crush everything we've built."

"I can take care of such a simple matter. Your talents are not restricted to his shadow."

"He won't understand. What do I tell him? What do I tell anyone?"

"That you're taking vocal instruction and have a scholarship with an instructor at the National Opera. That's not entirely a lie, either. No need to say who I am, in fact, our relationship never needs to be mentioned at all as this will remain professional. Understood?"

She nodded and he moved towards the fire so that his back was to her.

"We will begin tomorrow evening at the same time. I can't imagine that the government will be expected to work tomorrow either. Winter is finally here, it seems. Better put in your two week notice soon, if you choose to put in a notice at all. Your replacement will be starting their first day of work when congress is back in session." He looked back over his shoulder to her, "I trust you can see yourself out, Ms. Gallagher. We will meet again tomorrow."

Without feeling any of her limbs, she slowly knew she was rising from the couch. Her coat and scarf were back on her on the door, and she felt as if she were walking backwards out of the entire experience, walking down the few steps, out of the black metal gate, and down the sidewalk back to her little basement house. Snow was swallowing her shoes, the night was darker than it had been before despite the yellow street lights. Leafless trees were passing, more steps were under her feet as she moved up and over a small path and down under steal stairs to her gated door. Locks were opened and relocked, a lamp was turned on, and finally she was sitting down on a familiar couch.

All the while she only thought on one fact: A deal had been made that she had never agreed to. A deal had been made that she would never get out of. A deal… A deal that she had no ideal what it would entail.

VII

Douglas Nadir had been working with Erik Underwood for a solid portion of both of their lives. Even as they got into business with each other through deals that were far beneath legal, their stories fit together pretty well in the end. Prior to the time that Underwood was a House Representative, he spent a fair deal of time in Turkey. At that time, Nadir was working on becoming a duel citizen of both Turkey and the United States and was having difficulty despite his mother being from there. It just so happened that Underwood proved to be the ticket he was looking for.

While to the rest of the world, it appeared that Underwood, under a different name of course, was working to improve basic infrastructure in and around the capitol, Nadir soon found out he was making far more money working within keeping secrets to major political figures. Even as Underwood was highly sought after for his ability to know and keep information that could never be written down, he was never caught by anyone wishing to expose his knowledge. In this time, Nadir became his aid up until they fled the country from a war lord who wasn't too happy about the disappearance of his illegal concubines to the United Nations.

Once back in the States, Nadir had his highly sought after green card within a month and since then, he worked for one man only.

Surprisingly, the campaign trail had not been as brutal as he had expected for Underwood. In all elections he faced, he won an easy majority, speaking to immigrants, minorities, and women in particular. At first, running for such a position was a way for Underwood to discover more secrets. With his secrets, he held power and that was what he wanted. That was how he made his money and his estate. And that was how Nadir got his pay check.

One could say that if anyone on the planet knew just who Erik Underwood was, it was Douglas Nadir. Even then, even as many things were no longer a surprise, Nadir couldn't restrain his jaw from dropping when he witnessed a young blonde woman leaving his house. He waited a good long time before leaving his car and once he walked inside, Erik had a look in his eyes that made him feel that it was a bad time.

"What are you doing here, Nadir?" Underwood asked, his head slightly cocked to the side.

"I wanted to speak with you."

"That's what phones are for."

"The Erik I know prefers in person conversation. However," Nadir made his way into the Study, noting that a fire was going, "The Erik I know doesn't have young blondes leaving his house in the evening either."

"What did you come here for?"

"To discuss your plans of running for president."

"I'm listening."

He sighed as he sat down on the couch, "To speak clearly, I'm stunned. I understand it's the highest singular position of power, but are you sure you want that kind of exposure? There are plenty of people you may not want recognizing you, especially abroad."

Erik walked over to his desk and sat in the chair behind it. He laced his fingers together and Nadir noticed that a violin case was laying on top of the desk. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't lower his eyebrow.s from the shock of everything.

"You are right."

He waited a moment to continue. He wanted to let Erik stew over his intentions, "However, the look of that nice girl who just left might soften that image once it comes into place."

Erik's eyes shot up in defense, "We are _not_ speaking of her."

A slight smile of amusement crossed Nadir's face, "You know me better than that, old friend."

Underwood stuck his finger towards him and repeated, "We are not speaking of her."

"Wait," Nadir made a sweep around the room with his eyes and recalled being at the Arts Crusade the previous Saturday with his employer. "That girl, the young woman who just left. Was that the girl who sang first for the Spot Singing?"

"It doesn't matter because we're not talking about her." He said through his teeth.

"Aha! And you…" He eyes scanned the Study with an entertaining delight, "Did you bring her here to play for her?"

Nadir knew he was right when Erik immidately crossed his arms and stuck the nose of his mask up, "A coincidence that my violin needed to be restrung."

"You played for her!" He clapped his hands together, "Erik…do you have feelings for her?"

A quick answer, "None."

"You don't play for anyone. You said yourself that it was a gift only for the chosen few who could appreciate it. Why else would you offer to play for her?"

"Dammit you ass, we met under professional terms! You are too curious for your own good!"

"Professional? How so? Does this have to do with Peters?"

"No. Do you not have any personal matters in your own life? I know I pay you to understand mine, but perhaps I have a few things that even you do not know of! This has nothing to do with you and has nothing to do with Peters." He took a moment to amend his statement, "Except she won't be working for him any longer."

A smug smile crossed Nadir's wrinkling face, "Due to you or their poorly hid relationship? Whether it's official or not, he couldn't take his eyes off her at dinner. It is clear that he is too transparent for politics. In her defense, she did look very lovely, but still."

"This is not why you came over to see me without having called. I can have a life without you constantly pestering me, you know? Stick to what you meant to say!"

Nadir couldn't help rolling his eyes before continuing, "Look Erik, I need you to think. Do you really want to shoot for running against Walker in four years? Or is this all to shove him down for what he did?"

His answer was slow and low, "Yes."

"Think about it, you're where you wanted to be. You wanted to get into Congress and have a high stake in the government. You do. You're respected and feared, your wealth is squared away, and your secrets are safe. Why challenge that?"

Erik shrugged and stood. He made his way to the fireplace and looked at the painting above it as he often did when he was thinking. Eventually his eyes fell to the fire and he leaned his weight into the wall a little.

"I was getting bored."

Nadir crossed a hand to his face, "You wanted to run for president because you are bored?"

"Was bored. And angry at that idiot Walker."

"What changed?" He waited a very long time for an answer that never came and so he repeated, "What changed, Erik?"

"I have a new project," he said a little wistfully, his eyes drifting to the window.

"Which is?" he asked this only to confirm his beliefs.

His answer came as a whisper, "Her."

"And you've known her how long?"

"That doesn't matter," he murmured.

Nadir was skeptical, "But now she's your new project?"

Erik looked up to him, suddenly confident, "Yes."

"I'm guessing there's a logical reason for this?"

His answer was so simple, "No."

"No?"

"I can't think of one. Not really." He started to make his way back to the desk, eventually leaning on it, "She reminds me of a puppy that's been kicked too many times, don't you think so? Craving human attention, but not knowing how to accept being pet. She's lost Doug, but I found her, so she'll be fine I think."

"You've never been one for pets, Erik. Not unless you consider her an investment to come out in your favor."

"Are you really complaining? I found a distraction from running for president and publicly destroying Walker. You got what you wanted to accomplish in interrupting my evening and I get something else to focus my attentions on. We both win, don't we?"

Perplexed Nadir sighed, "We'll see, Erik, we'll see."


	9. Chapter 9

**THANK YOU for your reviews on Chapter 8! I didn't want to sound so lame, I guess it's just that as a fanfiction writer, we don't get paid (obviously) through anything besides reviews. Hearing your thoughts and interest in this story is my payment as an author and gives me the courage and willingness to keep posting my work. Thank you again and please, if you do feel so inclined, keep those reviews coming!**

 **Aaaaaaand back stories chapter... Go!**

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 **Chapter Nine**

Erik Underwood had told him to stop drinking entirely, but with the way it was snowing, there was no way that congress would be called the next day. Raoul sat in front of his seventy-inch flat screen television and let his eyes slowly open and close to the sounds of sharp rising minor keys of The Dark Knight. While the screen was flashing between light and dark, his thoughts were far away, years away even, to a time where things had been so much easier.

The point of taking a job at Cape Cod over the summer was not to make money, it was to fill time and drink with his frat buddies. He didn't necessarily require the extra money as his parents had always covered what he needed, but he was never against more money to spend on beer and beautiful sun tanned beach girls.

While his parents had taken measures to educate him in private music guitar lessons, besides letting a few popular pop tunes and the occasional rap song, his appreciation of music was slim to none. There were three musical acts that rotated throughout the week at the resort on when they would be playing at the pool side. The first time he had ever seen Christine was there. The musicians were on a small stage behind a short fence that kept the water from reaching the instruments and for the afternoon were playing covers of pop songs throughout the years. She was so short and thin at the time that he hadn't even seen her behind the quartet. A few songs in, she was handed a cordless microphone and held it with too hands. At first he found her uninteresting as she seemed eager, but nervous. He wasn't sure how she was hired for this being so young and returned to watching boring people sunbathe.

He was not the first to look over to find her. In fact, he followed the gaze of other people as their heads curiously turned to hear a fine white gold voice float over the pool side. Some people were nudging those they knew to take off their big black ear phones and while at first appearing annoyed, as soon as they turned their tape players off, they faces relaxed. This girl had quieted the pool area, and seemed very unfazed with having all eyes on her as Raoul connected the song to "Somewhere Over The Rainbow".

Her voice wasn't so sculpted to sound like one of good training alone. Inside of her was a natural talent and light that glowed out from her as she stood in a simple pale blue dress and head band in her hair, swaying her shoulders a little with the music. When the song had finished there was a brief moment of wanting more in the air, not from an unfilled helping, but simply because the sounds had tasted so glorious to the ears.

Needless to say, where there had been light polite clapping before, there was enthusiastic applause that reverberated all around. Even Raoul was smiling, laughing, and forgot to shout at some kid running too close to the pool. A man with matching kind blue eyes of the girl, but drastically different black hair from her, kissed the girl on the forehead, and took the microphone from her.

"That was my daughter, Christine. She will be preforming more on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday evenings in the resort's restaurant for those of you who would like to hear her again. Now we are going to take a break for a little bit. Thank you."

A DJ started to fill the empty space that Christine had left, but there still a kind of uneasiness in the air, an emptiness that made the warm sea air stale. As the wind blew in and the time slowly passed, the feeling left and Raoul was just as bored as he had been before. The sun was finally making a shadow on the pool when he found this Christine sitting on the side of the pool below him, now wearing a simple neon green one piece swim suite with pink flowers over the bodice. Her feet were splashing lightly in the pool, making sure not to kick the water up too high.

"You have a nice voice," Raoul offered casually, a hand still supporting his head from the arm of the uncomfortable wooden chair.

"Thank you!" She beamed up at him, "I haven't seen you before. Is this your first summer here?"

"Yeah. Have you been here before?"

"Just last year. We went to Orlando three years ago. I didn't like it."

Raoul smiled, "I love Orlando. It's a lot more fun than here. Too many old people here."

Her nose wrinkled, "I guess."

There was a moment of silence between them before she hopped in the pool and began to tread water about five feet in front of him.

"You're good at that," he offered.

"Thank you. My dad doesn't let me leave the resort by myself so this is the only thing I can do sometimes."

Raoul looked around at the older boring people at the resort. "Do you have any friends or anything? What do you do for fun?"

"Just the band, really. Mainly my dad. It's okay, we practice a lot."

"That's shi-" He took a second, remembering that she was young, "That sucks."

"It's okay. I know that word." She looked back up at him, "Well if you feel bad, you could be my friend, you know." She shifted into doing a backstroke in the water. No one else was in the pool so she didn't have to worry about looking behind her too often.

The thought of actively hanging out with a kid left a bitter taste in his mouth. The chicks would probably dig it, but for making new drinking buddies it would be totally lame. "Sorry, I don't have many friends that are…" He thought of something better to say, "Uh, how old are you?"

Without a beat she shouted, "Twenty!" and dove under the surface before being able to see unbelieving look on his face. When she popped up again, his arms were crossed and his eye brow was raised.

"Twenty, huh?"

"Yep. Older than you, huh?"

"About. Where do you go to school?" He tried to catch her, but she answered without a beat.

"I study at the Juilliard School of Music. Where do you go?"

"Georgetown. For political science."

Her eyes crossed to him, "Is that boring?"

"Yeah."

"Then why do you study it?"

"I don't know. My parents said it would be good or something."

"That's too bad. My dad says that politics are stupid."

"He's right." Raoul shrugged and laid back on the chair. The girl swam a few laps around the pool quietly until the next life guard came to take his shift for the evening. He could tell from the light redness around his eyes that the guy had been drinking and was jealous that he hadn't been with him. Climbing down the latter and about to leave he heard, "Hey!" from the girl.

He turned around to find her with her arms folded on the side of the pool, her head resting on top of them.

"What's your name?" she asked with big eyes, the sunset behind her making her face dark and her gold hair shine.

"Raoul Peters."

"I'm Christine Gallagher. I'll see you around."

"Yeah, see you."

And that was how his funny friendship had started with the girl. She would always come to pool to swim in the late afternoon at the end of his shift. He never saw her anywhere else as he kept clear of the area when he was off clock, but whenever he was working, even when the schedule changed, Christine would be out there swimming. On occasion, her father would come out and dip his feet in while reading a book. When others weren't around, he would read aloud to her and she would swim quietly to listen. There was such a nice relationship between the two that Raoul couldn't help to notice, and even admire. His parents had always been away and he had well paid nannies and sitters to read to him at night, if at all. While he would never admit this to anyone, he enjoyed listening in on whatever was being read by the kind and tired middle aged man.

This was their entire relationship throughout the summer. Raoul talked to her as if he was talking to family. He was polite, spoke of subjects that seemed to matter to the rest of the world like grades and sports. He used the ambitions of his parents for his own and he and she compared what their summers were like in different resorts and cities all around North America. She talked about what it was like to work at these places while he would talk about how nice it was to relax. This safe, skin-deep level, without the parties, the girls, the beer, this was what he chose to share with her. As far as he was concerned, she didn't need to know anything else of him and he liked the idea of being a role model for a young aspiring girl who was cut away from the world. Sure, she knew people all over the country, could have asked favors of any one of them if she mentioned her fathers name. He had already begun to understand the importance of asking and returning favors and found it interesting that she never seemed to grasp the concept.

It was when Raoul's step- brother came to visit that things began to change. Phillip had no real reasons of coming besides to pester him. Phillip already had a distinguished career in politics and his family, while praising him, also scorned him for his side life with women. Phillip was the type of man that was mysterious to all around him and women found that intriguing enough to share private conversations in closed rooms. Phillip was a man of distinguished power, simply because of the secrets he promised to keep. It was only on a rare occasion that he ever spread anything. Only one person ever needed to see Phillip speaking casually with a woman of stature and once the rumors ran, it didn't matter if there was any juice behind the truth or not, suddenly the woman would find a quiet life of others not talking too openly with her.

The hidden truths behind Phillip's life were never known to anyone besides the man himself. Raoul knew to be careful with his words and admitted to being intimidated to the extreme point of anger towards his half-brother who had no less than fifteen years of age on him. The week that Raoul learned of this visit, he was on edge, drinking more, just in private. Finally, when he came, he insisted on sitting out by the pool to work on his laptop. They hardly spoke a word, but Raoul was ready to scream by the time the pool cleared out and a cheery young blonde came to greet him.

"You look grumpy today." She commented, then immediately dove into the pool to hide how forward her observation had been. When she resurfaced, she looked back at him and found him looking at his watch. She stared at him for a little while, waiting for him to look at her.

"What?" He snapped.

The looked of terrible hurt spread across her face and she let her head sink below the water, swimming to the opposite side of the pool.

"Are you angry at me?" She said quietly to the water, but the sound bounced up to him.

He sighed and put his face in his hands. When looking up, Phillip still appeared to be intently working under a large umbrella that had been placed out for him through special request. Raoul knew better. Phillip was listening. He was always, always listening.

"No, I'm not angry at you." Raoul responded after taking a painful breath.

"Oh, okay. Well, we don't have to talk if you don't want to. That's fine."

Raoul thought about the sage advice from his frat brothers: When a woman said she was fine, she was never fine. Was Christine old enough to be a woman? Couldn't be. She was way too little.

"Will your dad be coming out today?" He asked, hoping for the distraction.

"No, he has rehearsal again. He'll be playing for the Baltimore Philharmonic Orchestra in the fall. I've never been there, have you?"

"Once, but I was really young. I don't remember much."

Christine waited a moment, but soon realized the conversation was over and let out a sigh. She swam around the pool a few times and got out sooner than usual.

"I hope your day gets better Raoul." Was all she said before throwing a towel around her body and scampering off inside the rec room.

When his shift ended, Phillip had already packed up and was following him. This is what he did. He hardly ever spoke in public and stalked people back to private rooms for intimidating chats. Raoul knew better than to try to start any kind of conversation before this as he knew no real answer would come from Phillip if there were ever anyone nearby to hear.

"Dinner, brother?" was all he said.

"Sure."

"My driver is waiting for us out front. I'll meet you there. Don't keep me waiting."

"Right." He said under his breath. Phillip would always be treating him as a child, there was no getting away from that. Once changed and in his car, one of the only places where Phillip felt safe with another person, as his driver was one of the very few, if not the only, that was within his inner circle of trust. Then again, Phillips trust was many times bought at varying prices. Raoul changed into a yellow Polo and kaki pants with sandals and walked out to the long black car.

"Who is that girl? The young one who came out to swim later." Phillip asked once the door was shut.

"She works for the resort with her dad. She sings with the band at the pool sometimes."

"She looks like she loves you." Raoul looked at him with big eyes and he continued with his stone face remaining without much emotion besides a raised eyebrow, "You never thought of this?"

"No." He retorted sourly, "She's like, twelve or something."

"You're blind little brother." He commented before going into a tangent of what he needed to be doing with his life instead of working at a resort. It was a long night of half-way listening and eating expensive grilled fish and wishing he could drink the same brandy that his brother was drinking at the table. Of course the alcohol was brought up. Phillip knew too much at him and everyone else and now apparently Christine. What was worse was that he was most likely right, as much as Raoul would have wished to deny this.

Raoul thought about his life, thought about their conversations together and realized that he wasn't ready to have such wholesome conversations, wasn't ready to stop drinking and partying and finding new girls. The long days at the pool had been tiring him out. He was losing focus on why he was there that summer and why he wasn't doing some stupid internship in DC like Phillip kept telling him to do. He decided right at the dinner table that he was going to find some fun as soon as Phillip dropped him off. He no longer cared what his brother did or thought. This was his summer and he was going to have fun with it.

A few weeks later he had found himself a temporary girlfriend. The way he saw it, it was inevitable that they were going to break up when the summer ended and there was only a month left to the season, even if she had other plans and he made sure to break them before things went too far. About two weeks before the end of the summer Christine stopped coming to the pool to swim as she always had. He wasn't sure why and he admitted that he missed the company at the slowest part of the day. She would still sing on some afternoons, but she avoided his eye contact, always shying away if he were to look over. It was for the better, he thought.

He wouldn't see her again for a very long time and when he did, he hardly recognized her because she had bags under her eyes, was so skinny that her cheek bones were very obvious, and there were faint lines on her forehead when she thought too hard. That was in his office before she worked her way up the system so well. By the time she was at the head of the office, she was beautiful and even confident on occasion. Still, the girl he met that summer was gone and he never asked about her to avoid seeing the emptiness of a woman appear again to him as he had first seen her when she started working for him.

IX

The government had taken a day off just as Underwood had expected it to. Raoul had texted Christine that morning to see if she wanted to come to his place to watch movies. She knew what that would entail and while she didn't mind, she didn't want to trust a cab to get her all the way across town safely either. Stupid Georgetown and them not wanting open up a metro stop there. She took to baking instead. That was a lot easier and a lot less effort overall. Cookies seemed like a good idea. Sugar cookies with pink assorted sprinkles she had left over from last year's Valentine's Day.

Turning _Orange Is The New Black_ on her computer and setting up her station to mix, roll, and cut out cookies on her small kitchen counter, she was all but ready to start pouring flower when her phone buzzed. It was Raoul.

 _I wish you could come with me to Christmas._

They both knew why she couldn't and when she thought of the wealthy entitled family that were The Peters, she felt something drop from her stomach. It would be like all the summers she ever spent as a kid, but this time, instead of singing songs and retreating, she would have to make pointless conversation and try to keep up with whatever rich people talked about. She always hated that, hated when people at the resorts would talk down to her and her father as if they were so much better. What was worse was that while her father had been patient and kind to the upper crust, Christine didn't know if she had it in her to keep smiling and nodding. What was the point?

Raoul was leaving that night for a week so long as the weather permitted it. It wasn't that she felt any better about him having to face his family. In ways, she pitied Raoul. He was raised in a house of nannies for mothers and scandals for fathers. No wonder he felt trapped all the time. Still, she wasn't ready to ease his burden and go with him even if it would be alright with his family.

She replied, _I couldn't say no to Meg's family anyway._

That was true…even though she already had. She had told Raoul that she was spending Christmas with Meg and had told Meg she was spending it with a case worker from when she was seventeen. Neither were true. Christmas was not a holiday to be celebrated anymore. There was no point in that. Out of all the days in the year that her father could have chosen to die, he chose that one.

Something sour formed in the back of her mouth and she swallowed it down. Why think about such things? There wasn't a point anymore. She had the entire day to make cookies and binge on Netflix. Maybe even start _Alpha House_ since Meg recommended it to her. For maybe a day she could have to herself and just enjoy it. This didn't include the evening's coming lesson of course.

As if on cue, her phone buzzed for an email. She put down the flour and saw that it was an address she didn't recognize as it was a strange combination of letters and numbers that didn't seem to add up to anything. The message read,

 _Ms. Gallagher,_

 _I expect you do take this day, as well as the rest of the government holidays, as a time to become suited in your new training regiment. The following is a list of foods you should not eat within a six hour period before each lesson:_

 _-Any diary products_

 _-Sodas_

 _-Coffee_

 _-Dark Teas_

 _-Any serving of sugar larger than 10 grams_

 _In addition to this list, you are expected to drink no less than a half gallon of filtered water throughout the day. If you do not already have a filter for your faucet, you need to buy one._

 _Once you have learned breathing strength exercises you will be expected to do them at least an hour each day before lessons. Cardiovascular exercise will also be necessary to keeping your core health up. A gym membership may be a future requirement. This should take up an hour of your day before lessons. It is better to do this when first waking up so that you will not be exhausted for lessons. You are also required to sleep 8 to 10 hours each night in order to properly rest your voice and your body._

 _Depending on how your voice grows within the week will decide what needs to change in this regiment. I expect you to start this immediately so that we will not be held back this evening._

 _Till 8:30, Ms. Gallagher,_

 _-E. Underwood_

Christine put the flour she had been cradling in the crook of her arm down with a huff. She was never going to get a day off now. She felt as if he had ownership over her now and she couldn't even remember making an official bargain with him! She checked the time. It was only ten-thirty. She could eat as many cookies as she wanted before two-thirty. That was when she would start caring. Till then, cookies and _Orange Is The New Black_ was all she cared about.

IX

 _Heyy chica! Want to get snowed in with me before my mom tries to pick me up in her Hummer tank?_

Meg was all but begging her friend to save her from writing another boring report on what Republicans were talking about outside of what they were doing on their votes. The older ones weren't willing to open up, but she was still optimist that she could get more answers out the freshman senators, one flirtatious man in Florida appeared to have a loose tongue so long as she was willing to show a little skin. Or maybe a lot of skin.

Her hand flew to her forehead and she could hear the jingle of Cloe's collar tags on the slap that ensured. Why did she have to become a whore to get anything good? For a second she considered going back to dancing in hopes the old donors might invite her out after. No…no that wouldn't do either.

 _Hey Meg! I'm taking a day in to bake! I'd love to come over, but I don't trust the cabs. Would you?_

 _Good point…what are you making?_

 _Cookies…I think. Do you know anything about baking vegan?_

 _Hah, no. You going vegan?_

 _No. Just wanted to cut out some dairy here and there. You know it's just fat anyway._

 _Buzzfeed might have some things. Save me some cookies?_

 _They have glutan :(_

 _Oh don't worry. I figured out that was a hack diet while in Canada. Load me up!_

 _Will do :)_

 _Well, if you change your mind I would LOVE to not write this story on old senior republican senator views. Want to change places?_

 _You have no idea._

 _Hahaha what's that mean?_

 _Nothing. Neither of us really get days off do we?_

 _Nope. We didn't when performing either._

 _Wow that seems like an eternity ago._

 _Not for you ;)_

 _Don't remind me… You know I threw up all that good food when I got off stage?_

 _I figured :/ No worries. People will forget eventually._

 _Sure._

Meg felt her friend was being pessimistic again and rolled her eyes.

 _Love you hon ;)_

And that was the end of it. She sighed heavily and stared painfully at her pink Dell. This night was going to be way too long and she would have to make more coffee. She was running low on Zeke's and no one from the Harold had gotten her any for Christmas. How disappointing. She sat back from the computer on her lap and let her head fall to the back of the couch. Cloe nudged her head to her hand and she petted the dog's head.

"You have it way too good, pup. How about you start earning your keep around here and write this article for me?"

Cloe nudged her head into Meg's hand again and she felt nice under her tired finger tips. It was funny to think of how her and Christine's friendship had come about. It a way, it may have never happened if it weren't for Cloe. Meg had been attending dance classes at her mom's school in Annapolis. On long days Meg would sneak Cloe in her purse and let her sit in the dressing room during classes. Somehow, she managed to escape and Meg found herself running out into the streets to find the dog. Her mother was furious as usual.

It took almost two hours and the sun was gone when she found Cloe on the lap of a girl sitting on a bench outside of Annapolis Mall, which was coincidentally not far from Anne Arundel Medical Center. Meg simply figured that Christine was there with the same intentions that she wished to have time for: shopping. It wouldn't be discovered that Christine had been going on a walk to escape the tension of the waiting room as her dad was undergoing testing. Meg was the first to reach out to the sad peer of hers with a friendly, "Are you okay? I just bought a bag of Skittles. Would you like some? Just don't tell my mom. She wants me on some psycho diet all the time."

The girls talked for a little and it made Meg happy that she could make Christine laugh after only a few Skittles. She didn't like the purple ones anyway and was happy to give them away to cheer someone else up. They exchanged numbers and became fast friends. Since Meg was homeschooled with the other elite dancers so that they could make competitions, it was easy for the two to meet up at strange times of the day. It was especially nice for Meg to have a friend who wasn't a dancer as she had been surrounded by them her entire life.

"I don't know if I want to be a dancer forever like my mom." She told Christine over frozen sorbet on spring afternoon a few months later.

"What do you want to do?" Christine wasn't making eye contact that day, but she had been getting down on herself for a while at that point. Meg never asked much as it made her feel a little awkward, but she still liked Christine's company and was usually able to bring her to happier subjects.

"I don't know. Maybe be a journalist. I want to travel and I like to write and find out things about people. And I like to eat. Dancers don't get to eat."

"That must be hard." Her voice was getting hallow and her eyes were getting farther away.

"What do you want to be when you grow up?" Meg tried to raise her friend's spirits, "A singer?"

"I…I thought I did, but…" Christine gripped her spoon and shut her eyes tight.

Meg quieted and reached for the girl's hand, "What's wrong Christine?"

Something cracked.

"I don't want to sing without my dad! I don't know how!" She blurted out and took in a big voiced breath.

"Whoa whoa whoa, hey girl, who said-"

"The tests came back today and there's nothing they can do! He's going to die and there's nothing I can do!" The young girl burst into tears on the table and Meg saw the sorbet lady behind the counter look awkwardly away at the sink.

"Hey," Meg reached out consolingly, but Christine didn't respond, "Hon, c'mon maybe we should go on a walk."

"I have no where to go! I have nothing without my dad! Nothing!"

"We're going to figure something out, babe. Come on," She put her arm under Christine's and led her to her feet.

"I c-can't, I can't do this. I'll die without him. I know I'll die!"

"I won't let you die, honey. I'm here for you, okay? Let's just go out and talk. Mom says the best thing to do when upset is to get some air."

Meg put an arm under Christine's arms and pulled up with to lead her away from the door. That last month was especially hard for the girls. When the day of Mr. Gallagher's passing finally came, she stayed home from a dance competition to be with Christine. That decision would cause a divide between her and her mother for a long time, but even after such a short time, Christine really meant something to her because she felt she never had anyone care about what she wanted to do with her life instead of what her mother wanted to do with her life. She felt like she had importance for something beyond dancing and that was worth something.

It only took a few weeks for them to be parted by a foster agency. Meg's number never changed, but Christine's number changed so much that she couldn't keep up. Eventually she stopped calling to figure out what the number had changed to and they remained apart for years. It was after she had graduated college that she received a call from a number she didn't recognize. Part of her didn't want to pick it up as it had been a long week and train ride back from Boston and she had to rush to get out of people's way with her carry on bag.

"Hello?" she asked into the receiver as she shifted a folder full of papers to her other arm.

"Meg?"

She stopped walking down the train platform of Union Station, praying that her ears weren't playing tricks on her, "Who…who is this?"

"It's Christine. Meg, I…I'm so sorry I haven't-"

She dropped her bags all around her and nearly screamed, "Christine! Oh my god how did you get my cell number?! I'm so happy to hear your voice!"

"I asked your mom."

People were beginning to trip over her belongings and she started to pull them together to her body once more, "Oh duh! Oh my god Christine! How the hell are you? I've missed you!"

"Meg I… I'm sorry to ask you but…" The broken voice of the girl she remembered in the sorbet parlor caught her off guard.

She looked up slowly, "Ask me what?"

"I…can I stay will you for a little while?"

When Christine moved into her humble apartment she was very quiet for a long time. Once again, Meg didn't want to pressure her too much and it helped that she was busy working as the equivalent to a paper pusher for the Harold. Christine hardly had anything on her but a big old suite case filled with old tattered clothing and was all too happy and appreciative to sleep on the couch. Within a few weeks they rekindled their relationship very well and Meg did what she could to help her find a job in Washington.

"I mean," Meg said between eating handfuls of popcorn, "Do you want to stay in DC? I mean, I like it, but I really hope to get my next position early so I can travel more. This city can wear on you if you don't get out enough. It sneaks up on you."

"Well, it's not like I'm set on any place in particular. I don't think it's so bad. I like that the metro is clean."

"And expensive."

"That too." Christine peered into Meg's computer until her eyes grew wide.

"What is it? A lead?"

"I…" She looked up to Meg, "Do you know anything about Raoul Peters? He's a senator from Pennsylvania."

"Um…" Meg looked into the popcorn as if it had any answers, "I don't think so. Democrat, right?"

"Yeah, but not that. I," a smile spread across her face, "I used to have the biggest crush on him a long time ago when I was a kid. Apparently his office is hiring entry level positions."

Meg sat up, "Really? Surprised they wouldn't hire an intern. Do you think he'd remember you well enough to give you the in?"

"I don't know. I don't even know if he'll remember me, you know?"

"It's worth a shot. Shoot in an email, just don't sound creepy."

"Yeah," Christine chuckled a little, "I don't know if I'm exactly right for this, though. It looks like a lot of paper work."

"Doesn't matter. In this city the only way to get in is to know people. It's not always about skill. Why do you think I bought my editor a bottle of wine for Christmas?"

"But you're a great writer." Christine said honestly, "You shouldn't need that."

"Doesn't matter and that's the point. He likes oaky Merlots. That's what matters. Just find out what speaks to this Peters and you'll have an in."

Christine mumbled something and Meg raised an eyebrow.

"Repeat that?" Meg asked.

"I said 'women.' I think he likes women."

Meg's well shaped eye brow rose higher, "Get the interview. I'll do your makeup and dress you up. We'll get you a job, don't worry."

* * *

 **Is anyone checking out the Tumblr? It was just a thought. I'm happy to update it for this chapter, but if people aren't partial to it, I'll keep my research to the story. Let me know! Thanks for reading!**


	10. Chapter 10

**I'm a day late in posting because Saturday night, I found a truly fantastic beta in Boydje822. A HUGE thanks to her for her immaculate work on this chapter! As a disclaimer, she was only able to get about half way through (I'm ashamed to admit this was my fault for having all kinds of errors). That said, I'll be updating chapters as she rakes through them this one included!**

* * *

 **Chapter Ten**

Even as time away from congress would never mean any breaks from work, Erik was grateful that he had space away from his literal office while he found himself distracted by the young Ms. Gallagher. How was it possible that there was hardly any damming information on her? He could hire a private investigator, but his trusted connections tended to specialize in the present and he didn't want anyone knowing his interest in Christine outside of Nadir. There was a spark of excitement having to be the seek the information himself as he had become so used to others doing such things for him. Of course he believed in verifying all intelligence given to him, even keeping one of the smallest cabinets in the capitol. Why have to worry about one person more than what was needed? Finding a single trustworthy person was difficult enough.

Her reserves about the fool Peters were already getting on his nerves. There was no need to be loyal to him any longer. He was weak and pointless in the large scheme of things, only good as a pawn. Though it was becoming clear that his use for Peters would go beyond professional enlightenment and that he would have to show his even truer colors to his young protege. Now that money and safety were no longer an issue, it was only Christine's belief in him that needed to falter. Once that was done, she would be only Erik's.

Taking a step back from such thoughts, Erik couldn't help but marvel as to why such ownership of this woman was so important to him. He had used the word "greatness" on several occasions, but he had seen plenty of people capable of exceeding what life had stuck them with and still never felt the need to reach out to them. To say that Christine was on their caliber would be a lie. There was something within her that enthralled him, something that he craved. Her voice had to be his and if it were up to him he would rip it straight from her throat and keep it with him until he had his fill of it. Time between lessons dragged on so long, he wondered if they needed to be lengthened just so that he could try to get enough each day to continue his other many tasks.

Which was more counter productive? Congressional attempts of further power or raising this young woman's voice out of the gutter? He wasn't sure which one would prove more difficult.

X

Christine decided to take a long walk before her lesson. She left her basement apartment and headed in the opposite direction of where she would eventually end up. Instead of obeying her new regiment entirely, she decided not to eat anything after she finished a fair amount of cookie dough and cookies. The thought of hearing her voice again was scaring the mess out of her, so she attempted to hum single notes on her walk without causing attention to herself.

People were active, even though the snow was a few inches deep from the previous day. She enjoyed walking past parks where kids played and made various snow creations. At one point she was nearly hit straight in the head with a snow ball. The kids were so focused on in their game that they hadn't noticed the rough shot. There wasn't enough snow for the area to be clean and there was plenty of mud mixed with the snow that stuck to everyone. A black puppy scurried around in the snow and Christine had fun watching it have its first snow experience. She would have wanted a dog growing up if she could have fit it somewhere in her lifestyle.

Christine winced at the thought. It had been an insane year, one that she was all too willing to forget and move forward from. That was the typical pattern; she would simply keep forgetting years until she had something worth remembering. But what was worth caring about anyway? Maybe a puppy would be a good move. Then it could play with Cloe and Christine would have a jogging partner. The thought of getting in shape was something that she had wanted to do for herself, but now that she was being forced to do it, it would be a different situation. Maybe a dog would be just what she needed to confide in, too.

Her thoughts had taken her too far away from reality, when another snow ball came flying towards her, she didn't have the thought process to duck as it hit her square in the side of the head.

"Ah!" She yelled as cold snow and dirt ran down her face and into her scarf.

"Sorry lady!" A boy yelled while he ran off with the others to the far side of the park's play ground.

"Damn it," Christine swore as she took her tightly wrapped scarf from her neck to clean out the water and dirt. Just then the wind picked up and further chills hit her cold wet skin making her shiver. Cleaning off her scarf and neck, she put it back on the opposite way hoping it would still keep her warm. This sort of worked and she decided to keep walking to warm up.

Her feet led her around the Capitol Hill area, to Easter Market, and finally out to 12th Street where she would run into Underwood's residence. It had been a few hours since the snowball had hit her, and her skin where the snow had melted stung whenever the breeze picked up. No one was out anymore as night had fully fallen. She walked briskly against the wind and was nearly thankful when she came upon Underwood's house. Hardly taking a second to compose herself, she entered through the gate and was unable to ring the doorbell before the door was opened for her.

He said nothing. He merely waved her inside the darkened hall with one smooth sweep of his hand. She followed his hand gratefully and hurried inside only to find that it was nearly as cold in there as it had been outside. Sure, the wind was gone, but she wondered if she would still be able to see her breath.

"You're shivering," He said matter-of-factly, "Is your coat not adequate for this weather?"

"N-no," She didn't meant to stutter, "I've just been walking a while."

He looked up beyond her, "This weather is not good for your voice."

"I didn't think -"

"Then maybe you should start thinking of my investment here and take better care of it."

Christine looked to him as she realized just what kind of chord she had struck with his mean strict tone. The thought of apologizing crossed her mind, but she felt a little relief in knowing that she still had her real job tucked away and didn't need this kind of treatment to survive.

"Your hair is covered in filth." He spat at her, "Don't tell me you're so destitute that you can't bathe properly."

Immediately her hands went to her hair, but when she felt her gloves instead, she pulled them off hastily. Sure enough, her hair had crusted together with dirt on the side of her head and she sighed, "The snowball."

"Does your mumbled speech indicate that your first lesson will be in diction?"

Christine looked up to him, her temper getting short as well. This time, her speech was nearly crafted perfectly, "It was a snowball. A kid hit me by accident while I was walking."

"And you felt no need to wash since then?"

"I didn't have the time-"

"By the looks of your frozen hair, you had ample time to do as such, but you didn't. In addition, your face is wind burned. Was I wrong in taking you for someone who could properly care for themselves?"

His words stung as the thoughts of her past she had briefly visited her on her walk resurfaced. She spoke through her teeth, "May I please use your bathroom?"

"And take away from your lesson?"

"Look, I don't care, but you clearly do, so please, may I use your bathroom?"

His eyes turned to slits, "Five minutes. I'll make a fire."

"Where-"

He waved her off, "Under the stairs, where else?"

She all but growled in response as they parted for their separate destinations. At least he was making a fire. That was a welcome action to her. He was acting very different from the previous day. What? Did not following his stupid rules for his stupid investment send him off? …Probably… She never really liked school. There's too much relative conformity to passing tests. He was beginning to remind her just of that, and she was ready to sneak out the door and run. Still, something, she really wasn't sure what exactly, made her sigh and continue to stay.

She found the bathroom easily and turned on a simple light to illuminate a bathroom made of black marble tiles with a matching black marble toilet and sink. The impulse to scoff crossed her at how easily he could throw marble away on something like a bathroom. That was how the wealthy lived. That was a life she wasn't meant to understand. The deal he had made over her hair was not completely unjust. There was plenty of brown muck to scrape out and she wasn't looking forward to touching water again to do it as it only chilled her further.

Once she had finished and attempted to dry what she could of her hair with the hand towel, she met him back in the study where a fire now blazed. She embraced the warmth to her face and hands and all but inhaled the smoke in attempt to heat up faster.

"Are you ready to share an acceptable appearance, Ms. Gallagher?"

She turned to where he stood at his desk, his mismatched eyes glittering gold from the fire light. The thought crossed her that he might always behave this way, that she needed to prepare herself for a rude entitled politician every time she came over. She chose to ignore his comment and instead looked past it in a way she could, "Thank you for making the fire."

"You need to warm up. Otherwise your vocal chords will not work properly."

 _They don't work properly to begin with,_ she thought scornfully.

"Do you have a car?" He asked plainly as he took out his violin.

"No,"

His fingers began to pluck at the strings, tuning them as it was needed, "Then you'll need to find a gym close by. No more of this outdoor activity if it causes you to be so careless. And is that scarf the warmest you own?"

She felt her scarf lightly with a hand, "I think so,"

He crossed the bow over each string quickly and unceremoniously before continuing, "Then buy a new one. One that will work. Wool would be best."

While she agreed that it wouldn't hurt to purchase a warmer scarf, she audibly sighed her discontent with his constant hits at her.

"If you don't like this sort of treatment," He said coldly, his eyes piercing, "Then learn to take care of yourself enough for your voice to work. Otherwise, our deal is off. And _you_ won't like that."

Did she even officially agree to this? Were they ever going to discuss that much? She wasn't sure if she would mind that so much at that point and stuck to staring into the flames, willing them to increase her warmth enough to the point where she would no longer shiver and be nervous around this man. There was a pause until he asked casually, "Have you put in your two week notice?"

"You don't let up, do you?" She sighed painfully.

"I have no reason to. And I hate having days off. Too much to think about."

"I've hardly had time to think and it's not very professional to put in a notice over a holiday. The polite thing to do is do it in person."

"Would you rather me speak for you? I don't believe in holidays and Peters is afraid to question me, especially if I need to spread private information on the two of you around the office."

"Such a politician," she sneered, "Always looking to hold things against others for their own selfish gain."

"Secrets hold the ultimate power, Ms. Gallagher."

She looked to him and how casually he let himself lean on the desk while she stood so tense in the center of the room near the arm chair. His eyes seemed to smile at her in a menacing way. She could not let herself appear cornered. The door was close by, that was all she needed to know and being prey to him was not an option. Her existence had to stay in tact.

A casual sigh fell from her as she shifted the conversation, "Can we not talk about this, please?"

He was not going to be unheard and he clipped back, "If you had taken care of your voice we wouldn't be, but there you stand like a shivering dog in my study, trying to waste my time. I chose to handle business first, was all."

"Fine." She spat, "Anything else you'd like to know? Anymore questions you're dying to know, Dr. Underwood? I think I prefer taking your insults compared to trying to make my voice work again. At least that would remind me a little more what it's like to work for congress."

There was hardly a moment before he followed, "Why is that?"

"What?" She was off guard.

"Why is it that you are so pained to sing?"

Her eyes narrowed, "I thought this was a singing lesson, not a phycologist visit."

"Breath connection will open up many things. It is better to lay them out now so I know what to expect."

"Don't expect anything, then. I told you. I don't work anymore."

"Your well versed public panic attack from the other day would say otherwise."

She spoke smugly, finally looking towards him, "That's proof enough that I don't work, Dr. Underwood. Do you often take up lost causes? That must lose popularity in your field."

"Do you speak so forwardly with your _current_ employer, Ms. Gallagher? If so, you must be accustomed to him not listening and if that is the case, I trust you not to take it personally when I do the same on this subject." Her eyes grew wide with the insult, but he continued before she could leave, "Now I believe you are warm enough having monologued boring excuses." He looked at her for a strange second, then put his violin back in the open case, "We'll start with breathing exercises and sticking to one pitch at a time. You don't even have to believe you're singing. Simply breathe on pitch. Fair?"

"Fair."

And that was their first night of lessons. Erik would tap a long finger on his desk to mark time as Christine said "ooh" on a singular easy to find note. She remembered this kind of training from another life and how she used to be effortless to carry the note fully to the end of a thirty second bit where now she was lucky to hit twenty. Breathing fully into her ribs was something she found no comfort in doing as it seemed to wrestle with emotional scar tissue somewhere near her heart and stomach. When she finally reached thirty ticks she exhaled immediately after and the feeling of accomplishment, even letting a hint of a smile escape. It was short lived.

"Were you counting?" He spat so loud and she nearly jumped.

"Yeah, why-"

"No! There was a reason I wasn't counting out loud. Music is not to be counted it is to be felt. Your job is not to count the beats. Your job is to breathe. Now inhale! One, two, three, exhale."

Her startled feelings hurt her breath support when he did this and without thinking she started counting in her head. Only a few seconds in he stopped her.

"Stop counting dammit. Again! Inhale. One, two, three, exhale."

This time she was able to keep up a little more, but the quick change over left her winded. He stopped her early again.

"Let your breath out. All of it. Leave nothing inside."

She followed the instruction until her body began to plead to have some air back.

"No. Leave it. You inhale when I say. Hold it!"

She held out a bit longer until finally her eyes shot straight up to his, now requesting his permission without meaning to. His eyes answered her and he called to her soothingly, "Easy now, inhale: one, two, three, exhale."

There was ticking in the back of her head, but she didn't quite hear it in her ears. All that was heard was the solitary pitch that slit through the room slight a smooth knife against warm butter. All the while, her eyes never feel away from his, they seemed to hold each other somewhere within the note, and when the only sound feel away there was emotion stirring hungrily in the pit of her stomach. It was the same she had hid away so long ago, behind the hunger, the nervous pits of insecurity, and yet there it was again. Impulse struck and her arm wrapped around her waist to try and keep the feeling from spilling out somehow.

She was breathing normally when the sight of his polished black shoes came into her vision over the slick wood floor.

"You held your voice out for over a minute that time. Did you feel it?"

"No,"

"You're lying. You're not holding yourself like that because of physical pain. You protecting something that if let go, nothing out here would stop you." His voice was above her head and she stilled at realizing just how close he was. "Prepare yourself to be limitless, Ms. Gallagher," he whispered just above her ear.

The close proximity troubled her enough to take a step backwards. To this, his visible eyebrow rose.

"You are dismissed. Be sure to hold up to my terms tomorrow. I will not have my time wasted again."

X

He hadn't exactly meant to be so cruel to her. That wasn't the real intention. It just so happened that the more research he did on her, the phycology books that he reached for to see if he could diagnose her with anything, and seeing the difference between very old photographs of her singing as a child and her standing behind Peters as an adult, made him angry. He had to ask himself again and again why was it that he found her so interesting? Why should he not give up on her as she has so clearly given up on herself?

She was not dead yet, not completely. She believed in things, spoke forwardly for herself despite her lower rank compared to him. Years had taught her not to feel for it would get in the way, but there was the time that very evening when the surprise in herself lit something painful for her, but she pushed forward through it rather than side swiping it away. There was something in her that wanted to continue, that wanted to connect to what she was and that light flickered dull behind her eyes.

It was true, Erik had a sort of attachment to things that were striped of their worth and were working to get it back. So often he found people in congress who had to do nothing to obtain their first million. Many of them, upon graduating from disastrously expensive universities were given the present of debt free living, a new car, a house, and on top of that, a starting one to five million dollar investment towards there future. Erik had none of this and yet obtained his first million in trading highly detailed secrets between oil waring parties in the Middle East. This reputation had been protected seeing as American and other Western powerhouses were just as involved in them as those living in the region.

Christine was not destined to be a millionaire. That was not what she wanted. It appeared that her interests lied with quiet survival. A warm place to sleep, a few people to talk to, and a savings account. Erik briefly wondered how different things would be if he had been granted a face that matched hers. Still, he noted that on some standpoints it was just as difficult for a woman in politics as it was for him. It was remarkable that such educated people could be just as stubborn and blind as the lower class of trash that worked for them. Some humans, despite their stations, were all the same in the end.

Perhaps it was Ms. Gallagher's voice that struck him so heavily. It was in her, he had heard it the night of the ceremony. Her honest tones that did not show corruption from teachings or falseness through terrible acting and a need to be seen. It was such a paradox to hear, a woman who absolutely did not want to be there, but sang as if it was her only way to breathe. The training was there, the ability regain it wouldn't take long, he just needed to draw it out…by not being a complete asshole.

Erik sighed as he drank another sip of whiskey. The footsteps she had left in the snow from earlier were blown over from the rough wind and he was caught staring out of the dimmed window without real reason. She didn't seem so afraid of him as he was used to from others in her station. If anything, she really just seemed annoyed. That was…interesting to him. She was interesting to him.

* * *

 **Another HUGE thanks to those who keep reviewing and PM me on this story. You've really been helping me craft and smooth out the rough edges along the way. Thank you to the reviewer who noted that the story was going a bit slow - it helps to know! So, I will say this mini-spoiler: after this chapter is a seemingly normal Christmas Eve for our characters (I remark at my unexpected timing with this story). However, Christmas turns out to be a devastating day, a life changing kind of day.**

 **Follow/Favorite/Review for more! Thank you!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Last chapter was short and a day late, this chapter is the longest one yet and a day early! Huzzah! A big big THANK YOU to those who are reviewing. You make my day :)**

 **A lot of things are happening here. Please let me know if you think it's choppy or confusing. I also would like to note that Raoul's character is more strongly based off of House of Cards character, Peter Russo. Note: there will be a surplus foul language in this chapter.**

* * *

 **Chapter Eleven**

 _You sure you don't need a ride out of the city? If anyone can get through the crazy out there is my mom…where did you say your foster mother was?_

 _Baltimore. I'm taking Amtrak so it should be fine._

 _Okay…well if you change your mind just call, k? She said she'd be here in two hours so… Just be sure you leave k? I know you're not into Christmas anymore, but I don't think it'd be good for you to be alone either._

 _I won't be alone. Thanks Meg._

It was Christmas Eve and as much as Christine wanted to forget it, it was impossible. All the internet cared about were Christmas ads so she decided to go outside and try to run. Her lack of shape showed as she got to the end of the block and was already out of breath. A brisk walk would have to do. She went past house after house with trees in the windows or lights over the doors and fences. Nowhere was safe.

The wind was picking up and the snow wasn't scheduled to stop until the next day. The thought of happy kids over a white Christmas made her smile. Part of her mind went back a decade of when how excited she had been to run outside after a Christmas Eve concert with her father. They danced and spun in circles under the giant fluffy snow flakes somewhere in Ohio. Columbus? Maybe it was Columbus. She remembered his big wide hands and how they completely covered her own so easily, light brown hair reaching all the way to his fingers and how gross she thought man hands were even if they produced such a safe feeling. She missed his hands.

The cloud of air that came from her mouth was enough to wake her up. There she was standing on the corner of C and Tenth Southeast looking like an idiot. Picking up her feet she pressed on, this time running again. It didn't take long for her to slip on some tightly packed ice and land flat on her backside.

"Dammit!" she said through her teeth.

"Are you alright?" A middle aged man Middle Eastern man in front of a natural brick-colored house and a fair sized yard asked, putting his snow shovel aside to attempt to help her up.

She waved him off politely, "Sorry, yeah I'm fine."

"You picked some day to run. The snow froze over last night, you know."

Trying to stabilize herself again, she stood up and put a hand to her tail bone where the pain was collecting.

"You sure you're alright?" He asked again.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll be fine. No problem."

She took another look towards him as he now stood just above the first set of steps to his house. Her eyes tightened as she recognized him from too many pictures she had been looking at recently.

"You work for Representative Underwood!" The words came out faster than she could stop them. She quickly recovered, "I mean, I've seen you in pictures. Sorry, I don't want to sound so rude. I work as aid for Raoul Peters."

He straightened considerably and appeared more professional even in his casual brown wool jacket and thick black scarf. "Apologies, I didn't recognize you. You're relatively new to the position, correct?"

"Hardly a few months."

"He runs through people quickly, if you don't mind my saying."

"I know." She let herself smile a little as she didn't take his words in cruel way. He did not have negative intentions, "We've been having a lot of intern issues, otherwise I probably wouldn't have been able to move up in the ranks like I have."

"Ah, interns. Say no more."

They both laughed half heartedly.

"Well," Christine picked up, "I think I'm going to give up on this and go back home. It was nice meeting you Mister…" she caught her memory before he could remind her, "Nadir."

"Likewise, Ms. Gallagher. Have a pleasant day."

There was a moment, just a fraction really, where the two of them looked at each other with the same understanding. Her thought was hardly completed when his face revealed that he already knew exactly how she knew his employer. The soft embarrassment in her eyes hardened as she squared her mouth, nodded to cover the lump in her throat, and walked away.

XI

Of course it had not taken long for Nadir to catch onto Erik's new interest. It was a rarity when he was ever able to catch his employer playing music above ground as he didn't want to cause attention to the house. While Nadir has his own key to the front door, he knew he was not welcome to Erik's basement, he simply knew that it was there and all of the private work was done there. It was at the rarest most high stakes of times that Nadir was taken down there and every time he was, Erik was sure to keep the lights off so that no visual understandings could be kept. There was a reason why Erik did not keep a round the clock security team: he did not need to be protected when he could protect himself.

Interests such as music were a private matter and Nadir was sure that he was one of the few in the universe to hear Underwood play. He had to admit that his talents were beyond exceptional and was offset the violin playing was so unceremoniously cut off when the door opened the afternoon before.

"Do not stop on my account, Erik. I enjoy the strings, you know."

"I'd hate to waste your time, my friend." Erik said, placing the violin delicately in the case atop his desk.

"Today was supposed to be a day off and you had me walk to your house despite my dislike of the cold."

"Good thing I did. My house is warmer than yours. You need to renovate your insulation."

"Your house would only be warmer if you ever lit a fire."

"Right… You do it. I'm fine."

Nadir sighed and bent to flip the switch to the gas fire. It was not lost to him that the flames had been high enough recently to scorch part of the inner area. Erik kept a clean home and he concluded that this meant the fire place had been used very recently, most likely within the last twenty-four hours, but not so soon that the house kept any sort of warmth.

"If you're between thoughts, I'm happy to leave you be."

"No need." Erik snapped, "Let's work on where we're leading the secretary next."

Nadir noticed Erik to be trying a little too hard to focus. His eyes stayed down to papers and his laptop, but his finger would tap clear rhythms every so often. At times, and besides that Erik was still present in work and able to multi-task, Nadir could tell something was playing so deeply in his mind that it would not be leaving in any sort of short period. Instead of calling him out on this, he chose to watch and speculate just what he might have been up to.

Some hours later Erik was the same way, but suddenly Erik looked up as if he just had noticed it have become dark.

"Well I believe that will be enough for one day."

Nadir was surprised. It had only been three hours, but he chose to say nothing on that matter. "Anything you will need by tomorrow?"

Erik looked to the window, very, very, deep in thought. He spoke coldly, "We will need someone to replace Raoul Peter's aid. Someone who can make that much of an inappropriate spectacle of themselves should not be on his team. He already has a bad reputation with who he hires and just what he hires them for. She should be replaced to improve what little respectable imagine he has left. Otherwise, come the next election, we won't have our pawn anymore."

Nadir was still very aware of the younger Christine Gallagher and tried to not let his suspicion falter when he counter acted Erik's words, "I was in the understanding of the opposite. Granted, what happened at the ceremony was pitiful, but I have only heard positive things on her being his aid. Other congressmen are looking to try and steal her from him at the first chance he makes a mistake-"

"She's sleeping with him and I want her out! Understand now? Replace her immediately."

Erik's sudden burst of stern anger caught Nadir off guard. A simple of act of business should not have stirred him in such a way. He spoke his next words carefully, "She would not have been the first aid to have sexual relations with their employer. I was not in the understanding that she was with anyone either so it would not appear scandalous. To have him fire her without reason would not be on legal grounds which could hurt his image further. That is unless, this has something to do with with your secret meetings with her."

"She will be the one to leave." Erik said quietly, avoiding Nadir's eyes.

"And why is that?"

"She has no reason to stay."

"Then she has a lead elsewhere?"

"Yes."

He watched his employer stand still without a flench. This proved to the thought in Erik's mind. He no longer was distracted. This was the real reason he had been called over that afternoon.

"Is Ms. Gallagher a part of our plans for Peters?"

"No," Erik turned to him, "Unrelated really, though it would look far better for Peter's to be surrounded by hard workers he doesn't want to bend over in the middle of the work day. Find him someone with better credentials. They will be needing to start when congress opens up for the new year. I'm certain this will not be difficult for you."

Nadir chose not to push the subject farther. Instead, he nodded and exited with full intentions on looking further into just who Christine was. It was more than clear that Erik was planning something with her in mind, but what interest could that be? She was not the most beautiful of women and while her talents were noticed by other freshman congressmen, it was unlikely Erik would seek after her for their office. Granted, her performance, or public display of panic, did turn out to be far better than anyone could have expected, Nadir saw that nothing was left to be improved upon. She had all of the pitches, all of the notes and words, but it was as if a part of the soul of her voice were missing.

Erik was not interested in lost causes or pitiful puppies. This had to be something more.

On what Christians celebrated as Christmas Eve, Nadir decided to brave the cold to scrap his steps clean of snow, it only so happened that he saw the young woman pass by. He noticed how far away her gaze was and how she clearly had no idea he had stopped shoveling to observe her long before she fell. When they first spoke he kept to being casual as he was comfortable without the formalities, but when she noticed who he was the game was over.

There was nothing particularly striking about their short passing conversation. She did not appear as particularly intelligent or anyone who had secrets or power to share. If anything, Christine Gallagher appeared as a very normal young professional and a relatively poor one at that. As far as he was concerned, there could be no reason why Erik Underwood would be interested in her at all and that was the exact point of why he had to conclude just what was happening between them.

XI

Dinner had been an excruciating play of power. Every time the Peters' family sat at the same table, Raoul was reminded that he was, in fact, the youngest of the youngest. In other families, he was sure that at least one of his older sisters would have had a kid by now. Not that he was fond of the idea of them being mothers, but at least then he wouldn't be treated like a child anymore. He looked up to the two women sitting across from him. Both of them deathly thin, their cheeks cutting out of their faces harshly. His eldest sister, Lucy, seemed to have taken up coke again. The makeup caked under her eyes couldn't hide the discolor.

Raoul's mother sat at one end of the table, a glossy look over her eyes as she sipped from her choice drink of the evening. He couldn't remember the last time both of her hands were empty without their being a glass of her choice pink cocktail within arms reach. Despite it being the end of the day, the time where she would usually be on the angry side of intoxication, she smiled stupidly as she looked at her family.

On the opposite side of his mother, was his father. With deep wrinkles and dark holes under his eyes, he looked far too tired to be breathing anymore. He and Raoul did not share many similarities in physical features, not that it ever seemed to matter. It was clear that the marriage had been about money. Raoul's mother never worked a day in her life and was willing to do what was necessary to have her drinks and dresses paid for. All of the children took after their mother which made it near impossible to distinguish that Phillip was from a different father than the rest of them.

Beside Raoul was the cold demeanor of Phillip as he sat, straight backed and pale as always. They shared no glances without requirement.

"Kids," Mrs. Peters slurred, "It's always good to see all of you together. We have such a pretty family, don't we?"

"It'd be nicer if Lucy hadn't divorced Kal over a bagel," Bridget teased.

"That bastard was trying to kill me with all that goddamn gluten," Lucy clipped back, her teeth not completely opening between words.

"Didn't we already talk about this over Thanksgiving?" Raoul asked warily.

"Yes," Phillip said softly, but everyone heard and looked at him, "We're done with this subject."

"Phillip, dear, won't you…" Mrs. Peters started, but couldn't find the words quickly as her head drooped to the side a little, "You…prayer, please?"

It was clear some time ago that the real patriarch in family gatherings was no longer Mr. Peters and Phillip nodded.

"What is it that we believe in again, Mom?" Bridget asked, a finely plucked bleach blonde eye brow shooting up, "It's not like anyone around here does religion."

"Everyone here was baptized Catholic," Mrs. Peters chanted.

"Will you shut up already?" Lucy said back, "Why did you decide to stop smoking yesterday?"

"Girls," Phillip said with a full voice, "I'm hungry. Feel free to discuss this after dinner. Now," he bowed his head and everyone followed soberly, "Let us thank the creator for that which we are given and for our time together. Amen."

"Amen."

For a few moments, the only sounds heard were that of gold plated silverware lightly hitting China plates. Mrs. Peters was the one to ruin it.

"So Raoul," she started, "How are things on the Hill? Isn't everyone so excited that Phillip is going to be Vice President?"

 _If only I could forget. Oh and now I work for Erik Underwood and he doesn't pay me to do it_ , Raoul thought bitterly, but muttered instead, "Not much to report."

"I suppose that means everything is going well? Phillip would you say he is doing well?"

Raoul scowled. She never believed him and always had to get her progress report from his step brother.

"He does what his position requires." Phillip answered quietly.

"Well, he is young to be in such a high office, isn't he?" She took a sip of her drink, "Now Phillip, I know Raoul won't tell me this, but I wonder if you know. Is Raoul seeing anyone?"

Raoul gulped and immidately wished he hadn't. Lucy stopped chewing in recognition and Bridget looked up.

"Uh-oh," Bridget smiled, "Raoulie's hiding something."

"Do you have a girlfriend?" Lucy chatted back.

God how he hated when them teamed up on him like that.

"Tell us Phillip," Lucy said back, "You know everything."

"If only he were a gossip." Bridget chimed.

"Unfortunately for you," Phillip commented, "I'm not. If Raoul has something to share concerning his personal life, he may."

Everyone looked at the youngest Peters. Raoul feared to tell his family that he had fallen in love with his chief of staff. She was of the working class and would never be considered his equal in their eyes. To old money like them, there would always be a strict line between white and blue collars. Still, he couldn't escape the fact that with her, he was happy. It wasn't like what beer made him feel, or being surrounded by women, or even the few and far between praises he received from his step brother. Christine had this way of looking at someone, and seeing something there that made him want to smile without being forced. No one else had that effect on him. How he wanted to protect it, to keep it for himself, but there were so many hurdles to obtain that kind of simplicity.

This was his family life and it was all he knew. The thought of bringing Christine into it was hopeful and dreadful at the same time. The only association she had with family was beauty followed by death. Raoul wasn't really sure what that would mean for him. He thought they could be happy. They were sure to have beautiful children, for sure, and despite his up bringing, Raoul did want to be a good father. He wanted to be around for children and wanted a mother who didn't always have a drink in her hand.

Christine would be right for him even if she didn't appear right to his family. He would be good for her to. There was a fear tucked away behind her stares as she worked. Sometimes stressful situations would come up and just when he was sure she would burst into tears, her face hardened, she hardly breathed, and he could see something click into place as she trudged forward into fixing whatever problem lay at hand. They only spoke over her past between the time of her father passing and her employment when she brought it up and he knew from the way that she talked that the nice little girl swimming in the pool had broken to give him the woman she was. Raoul did not know everything that she had gone through, but she knew that she worked hard to tuck money away. Christine wished for stability and Raoul wanted to be the one to give it to her…if only he knew how.

Raoul only had to bring up the concept of being with Christine to his family. He couldn't afford to lose their financial inheritance on Christine and was willing to struggle through as many repulsive family "bonding" as it took to prove that he was making the right decisions with his life, that he wasn't a waste of space or time, that he was, in fact, just as much a Peter's male heir as his brother. Christine made him a better man and he needed to protect that, he needed to protect her.

"Well?" His mother asked.

"I'm seeing my aid." Raoul blurted out then added, "Secretly."

"Fascinating," Lucy said rudely.

"Scandalous," Bridget followed.

Their mother coughed, "I don't want to know anymore about these stupid habitual girls, Raoul. You're getting too old for that. You need to settle down."

"She's not another one of those girls, Mom."

"Raoulie, you can't be serious." Lucy interjected, "You know she's after our money. You have to know that."

Before he could stop it, his fist hit the table making the China clink, "God dammit she is not!" He looked across at everyone's shocked faces.

Mr. Peters slowly looked up and grumbled, "No need to get angry, son."

Raoul sighed, "Look, she's not after my money. She a good person and for once Mom, I'm actually considering a life with her. God you could never be happy with that idea could you?"

She waved her hand, "We can't have you supporting some servant for sex, honey. Not publicly. We're an old family, that's not how things are done."

"And they'll be nothing to gain when you divorce," Bridget added.

"Maybe I don't want to be divorced." Raoul spit back.

"A girl from little means who has to work a job like that will likely try to divorce you," Lucy nodded.

"I'll be smarter on my prenuptial than you were, then."

"Fuck you, Raoul," Lucy gritted.

"Stop that!" Mrs. Peters cried from a cracked voice. She took a huge swig from her drink before continuing. None of them made any moves to stop her. That was a fight from too long ago. "Dammit can't we have one meal without all these obscenities?"

"From example, nope," Bridget answered under her breath before taking a sip from her own glass.

"Raoul," Mrs. Peters started, "Just find someone else. That won't be hard for you. You've always been so handsome."

"You don't even know her. None of you know her."

"Christine Gallagher," Phillip started with his usual even tone, "Age twenty-five, daughter of a dead violinist, with only a cheap degree in business to hold to her name. Prior to her employment with you, she was likely homeless with no other occupations on her record. However, only having worked just under a year at your office, she has raised to the highest position. Her only singular public appearance resulted in a panic attack at the Capitol Crusade. Her face is nicer than plain, but she appears unskilled with makeup and expensive tailoring during business days. I take it you were the one to supply her with the dress for the Crusade?"

Raoul sat unable to grasp the true emotion he felt. Was it anger? Fear? No, it was sadness. He had not know that Christine was ever homeless. Doubt began to swell in his head. Everything that Phillip had said struck him. How could Phillip know everything like that? Why did he have to know everything? Like some bomb always ready to explode, but no one but him ever knew when. His throat was dry and he made no move to take a drink of wine. Everyone stared at him and he felt his hands curl to fists.

"What do you have to say for yourself, Raoul?" His mother inquired.

"If he won't say it, I will: She's after your money." Lucy stated.

"So," Bridget started slowly, "I guess she's good in bed?"

"Fuck you! " Raoul stood and pointed at his eldest sister, "That's enough! None of you know her and she beats the hell out of your inability to ever understand what it means to be nice!"

"Being nice won't get you anywhere in this world." Mrs. Peters bit back, "Ask Phillip. Why don't you seek his advice more, Raoul? He clearly knows better than you do."

"I'll never be perfect like Phillip will I?" Raoul roared, "Why don't you ever get on his ass about never marrying?"

That was it. That was the topic they all knew better than to discuss and for reason that Raoul never knew why. The air sucked out of the room. A tear slid down Mrs. Peters face. Lucy's eyes narrowed. An evil smile crossed Bridget's pink lips. Mr. Peters sighed. And finally, Phillip stood and faced Raoul.

"Grow up Raoul. It was the best thing to have happened for Underwood to give you the position of House Whip's dog. Maybe he can do with you what you never wanted from me. Put down your drink, stop getting caught with whores, and find a wife. Do it, or get out of this inheritance."

"You're really saying that to me when they've been divorced twice?"

The girls were quiet in anticipation for what Phillip would say. Even they knew better than to pick an empty fight with him.

"They're not in the position you're in, Raoul." Phillip responded in his usual demeanor.

Raoul yelled louder, "I never wanted to be in this position! You were the one who forced me into politics!"

"You showed no other worth anywhere else."

"It's all fucking money to you, isn't it?"

"At least I know what matters and how to keep it."

Phillip's lack of emotion fueled him further, "Fuck this family and fuck you!"

Phillip sighed, "Leave, Raoul. Dinner's over."

"Good!"

XI

"I met your Chief of Staff today," Christine announced as she took off her scarf and coat. Dr. Underwood had a fire blazing before she could arrive and she couldn't be more thankful for it.

"Did you?" She noted that one of his eyebrows was raised, the visible one, "And were you sure to tell him of our rendezvous?"

She gave him an annoyed look, "No, of course not. You said this would be a secret and even aids don't always have to know everything."

"And what don't you know about Representative Peters?"

They were walking into the study.

"I'm sure we could compare notes, Dr. Underwood."

"What a boring evening." He said dryly, "Are you ready to begin? Chit-chat involving Representative Peters is not in my interest tonight."

"Right," she sighed.

For another long grueling night, they worked on her breath control. The only change that had been made was that she was now expected to keep the same pitch. He took to walking around her now, like he was some kind of vulture and she already felt like she was dead anyway, so it sort of made sense in a twisted way. He made remarks on her stance, having her move her feet wider at time, then back closer when she moved too much out of anxiety.

Most of the time she was nervous with the way he looked at her. It was piercing, consuming, and she obeyed what he asked of her every time without thought. His reaction to this was to not insult her or be cruel to her and she was more or less grateful when she only had to worry about listening and responding in a single mindless note. She avoided his eyes. There was something so deep and dark within them that she didn't want to encounter. She took to staring at the fire instead. That was the perfect distraction, really. No thoughts had to come, only breathing and occasional sound. It was getting easier not to think about all of the pain she was worried would come from this sort of exposure. By the time he was speaking to her again, it seemed all too soon from when their time had started.

"Your breath support should return as it's evident that it used to be there." He was walking back towards his desk, the fire had started to die down and he did nothing to save it, "You've matured since that time so there will still be something to become accustomed to in that respect." He poured himself a glass of red wine as he had only nights before in the same spotless manner, "You are to practice your breathing for ten minutes each hour. Set yourself an alarm so that you don't have to think about it and be sure that you've eaten and had plenty of water before doing so. Passing out would be pointless to achieving results." He turned his attention back to her so suddenly that she nearly jumped, "Is that understood?"

Part of her head went to a sassy comment of, _Am I supposed to wake up each hour too?_ But she decided against it.

"Yes, I can do that."

"Good," he let the word slide lazily off his tongue as if the word had become wine on its own.

She lingered there as the fire nearly extinguished itself. The sound of wind pressing itself on the dark windows made her turn around. Snow was everywhere, blowing every which way all over the streets and yards. She was not looking forward to trekking out into it even if she was less than a mile away.

"You walk most of the time, correct Ms. Gallagher?"

Christine turned back around, "Yes,"

"Are you close enough to not to require public transit?"

"Yes."

"Good," He took a sip of wine and seemed to let it stay on his tongue before losing it to his throat, "This city may have some of the cleaner looking options in comparison to other cities, but the people on them can be just as revolting. I would rather you take private transportation as much as possible. Do you like driving? I might be able to set you up with a dealership."

Christine put her hands up, "No no I'm fine, really. I like driving fine, but I'd rather not around here. Bus drivers are fearless, but I'm not good at aggressively getting around here. I prefer public transit, really."

"Perhaps," he kept his eyes on her, "We shall see how long that lasts, Ms. Gallagher."

"What do you mean?"

"Shouldn't you be going now? Before the storm becomes unbearable."

She didn't know what to say and stood there feeling like an idiot as the fire completely blew out from a gust of wind that found its way down the chimney. The only light that was left were the yellow lights that shined off of the snow outside. Christine shivered at the thought of facing the blizzard. A noticeable sigh was heard behind her.

"I take it you have not spent your day shopping for warmer clothes."

"I'll be fine," she shrugged.

"Keep in mind that you are now my investment, Ms. Gallagher. If you, as an instrument do not take care of yourself, I will have to take further action for you. Is this what you would like?"

"No," she countered sourly.

"Good, because I am too busy to be teaching and babysitting. And yet," He added quietly.

She watched him leave the room and head to a thin door that was near the door. The sounds of wooden coat hangers hitting one another and being forced from one side to another was heard. Christine crept to the door frame just in time to see him pull a long black scarf from the closet.

"You will wear this until you find a proper replacement, understand?"

He shoved the wool into her hands and immediately she felt warmth. The wool had been woven so tightly together and died so dark that if it had been any darker, she would have wondered if she were holding a strange light lamb entirely. She looked up to him, not wanting to make a scene of how much she was looking forward to wearing it and it helped that he just as quickly turned away.

"Replace your coat and put the scarf on." He said curtly, "I won't be dressing you more than literally handing you that scarf."

She quickly obeyed him in that respect, putting her blue pea coat on first, followed by the scarf on top of it just before buttoning it up. Even as the fire had died the just the sound of wind was enough to evoke a chill, she found her neck and face cozy in the wool. The feeling of his eyes upon her, watching from a far dark corner made her quickly finish buttoning up her coat over the scarf, finally finishing up by pulling her gloves over her hands.

"You will inform me once you have returned to your home."

She turned to look at him, confused.

"I won't have you out in this weather any longer than necessary, Ms. Gallagher now out!"

The gusting wind seemed to pick up midnight mass services from far away, for she heard bells ringing to chime in the coming holiday. Once around the corner she slowed her pace and looked into the snow as if it would carry visual signs of the day as well. It was late, far later than she thought it was. Pulling out her phone, she checked her messages. Raoul had texted a few times and it looked like it was a SOS of sorts. Was he worried that she hadn't responded in almost four hours? Probably not. Raoul only bothered himself with so much and his family was too much, she was sure of that. He had called at ten-o-five, but left no message. She decided to text him when she returned home.

Christmas made her want to smile, but nothing came. What was there to smile about? It was all about family and miracles and Christine had neither. There was simply no point anymore.

Once safely inside her basement apartment, Christine shed her now wet outer wear, deciding to keep the scarf on until she warmed up enough inside. The scarf made her hair fill with static so she tied it up in a big messy bun. She responded to Raoul.

 _Hey hon, wow sounds like a tough dinner. You still up? Want to talk?_

She remembered to respond to Underwood and rolled her eyes.

 _Made it home. No problem._

A response came very quickly from Underwood. That was half-way expected even if she would have preferred it if Raoul would ever answer back that fast.

 _Drink hot tea before you go to bed._

Hot tea did sound good. That was manageable. She hoped Raoul would text her back soon.

XI

Raoul now stood on the raised porch that over looked the ocean waters of Miami. Like so many other upper elite in the around the world, his family owned a summer house on a series of fortified sandbars and tiny islands just inside the beach barrier. The Peters' North Bay Village home sat right on the water and Raoul remembered how he as a kid would watch the yachts and party boats pass by, their radios blared making the sound bounce off the water, buildings, and almost sky.

That night, Christmas music could be heard playing lazily over the water. Both of his neighbors were out of town so if it weren't for two yachts passing casually by, Raoul would have felt very alone with the ocean. He had text Christine,to hear how she was doing and what she was up to, but she had not responded. She was always so good at responding to him within a few hours, but over the past few days, she wouldn't answer him back for hours at a time in the early to late evening. He wasn't concerned, but he didn't like it either.

Leaving the porch, he took his bottle of whiskey out to the water's edge. Slipping off his shoes, he let himself feel the grass turn to sand below his toes and a smile crept across his face. He remembered how effortless times used to be. He had a few friends on the island, none of them really talked anymore. Most of them lived on the West Coast now and were married. He remembered how his sisters would sneak him drinks, spiked with coconut rums and fruity liquors. They would party out on the beach and he would tell his nannies that they had come home when they hardly ever did as payment for their illegal liquors.

Sometimes his parents would be there, sometimes they would not, but there was always Phillip around to see through his lies and constantly disapproving with his signature glares and fine tuned words. At dinner he had felt just as small as he used to before he could drive. Back then he constantly felt walled in and closed off in that beach house. Now, it was the only place he could ever consider a place he stayed long enough in to be called "home."

All throughout dinner he had been ridiculed for every little thing that his father could remember being told by Phillip, all the while, his alcoholic mother sat there sipping her own fruity drinks. His sisters were just as bored and even as they sat at the table, their minds were so far away with whatever new guys and whorish girlfriends that they were currently keeping up with to via text. Both of them had already been married and divorced twice and they didn't seem to do anything, but live off of the money they scored while on search for the next guy they were going to win money off of in whatever divorce that was sure to happen in time. His eldest sister appeared to be doing coke again too as her eyes were covered up with cakes of makeup to hide the hallow darkened eye holes. They wouldn't be staying there that night either, they only ever slept in their beds when Phillip and the parents weren't around and usually someone would be sleeping with them.

Without having realized his actions, he was now sitting on the beach, his feet feeling the cold water of the ocean, his lower body incased by smooth sand and moved in and out with the shallow waves. Lifting the bottle to his mouth, he realized just how much of it he had consumed. From an almost filled bottle, over half of it was gone and he was hardly feeling anything beyond hazy. He shrugged at how his tolerance had grown over the years since first sipping alcohol at the age of twelve.

Underwood didn't want him to drink anymore. Did that include holidays? He decided to follow that direction once he left his family for Washington. What did it hurt now? His head became heavy and he slumped back to the sand. It had always been hard to see stars from there, but there were usually a few he could spot here and there. As his vision blurred, he thought of Christine waiting for him to marry her. He didn't intend to ask her any time soon, there were a lot of things that needed to be covered up professionally first, but in time, he knew that she would be the one.

Her face was the last thing he saw in his minds eye before passing out. The feeling of water splashing lightly against his knees was completely lost to him as sleep finally came.

* * *

 **Tumlbr will be update later in the week. Thoughts? Questions? Concerns?**


	12. Chapter 12

**Happy early Christmas (and late Hanukkah and Ramadan) to those who celebrate! This chapter coincidentally lined up with the Christmas holiday this week. Very coincidental haha yay fate!**

 **A huge thank you to those who keep reviewing, even for the "keep writing!" every-now-and-theners. Thanks to those who are favoriting and following as well. Happy to know you're along for this journey!**

 **And now we kick off tragedy. And E/C. Lots of E/C :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Twelve**

"Hey Christine…how are you?"

Christine rubbed her eyes. She wasn't planning on picking up the phone, but the third time Meg called, she knew that it must have been something important.

"Hey Meg," a yawn into the receiver, "Sorry, is everything okay?"

"Um," Her voice sounded strange, "Have you made it to Mrs. Valery's house?"

She paused for a moment and slowly replied, "Yeah, uh, yesterday…wait is it Christmas now? What time is it?"

"It's about five AM. Christine, I need you to know that if you need me to make a trip to Baltimore today that I will. Mom will understand. I just don't want you to be alone today."

Christine sat up in her bed, a sick feeling beginning to weave its way into her stomach. It was Christmas. Christmas was no longer a good thing.

"What's going on Meg?" she asked quietly.

"It hasn't been reported yet. I only knew because I was already up late and got a text from someone at the Harold who thought I knew him."

"What is it?" she repeated, her voice trailing away.

"It's Raoul. He's…he's dead."

Her vision began to get foggy, not with tears, but with adrenaline, " _What_?"

"He drowned, Christine. He was drinking by the ocean and passed out and the tide rose before anyone could find him. Christine, I'm so sorry. I just wanted you to know before it was announced."

"You can't…you can't be serious." Her mouth was drying up and she felt herself begin to choke. "How does that…Does that even-even really happen?"

"Do you want me to come up there? I'll start driving now, just give me the address."

"No…no, no, no, Meg you can't be…" The voice coming from her lips didn't sound at all like hers, "You can't be…"

"Do you want to wake Mrs. Valery? I keep talking for as long as you want, I promise. I just don't want you to be-"

"No, Meg, no, I just, I just need to wrap my head around this. I need to-to think. We'll t-talk later. I just need to think."

"Are you sure-"

"Yes." She said almost through her teeth. "Sorry, I just need to be… I need to think about what I'm going to do."

"We'll figure it out, I promise we'll figure it all out."

"I need to- I need to go."

She didn't remember hanging up the phone. She didn't remember the sound that it made as it fell to the comforter. The world became so heavy that she had to move away from it, had to do something to escape it. Her feet found the floor, but she felt nothing. She needed to feel something. Wobbling her way to a small window that was near her front door, her put both hands to it and finally felt the chilling cold. Snow and white covered everything and that same blanket covered her eyes.

Raoul was gone. Her job was gone. Her lover was gone. Everything she worked for would soon be gone. She would be expected to pick up all over again, to start all over again. So much gone in a few words.

"Damn you." She hissed and finally yelled, "Damn you, you goddamn son of a bitch! You fucking asshole, you-" A scream broke through the air and finally she was on the floor in a mess of sobs. "Not again. Not again. No."

The small tiled entry way was cold and made her feeling return. She embraced the chill of the basement and lay there on the floor, taking in something beyond the emotional hurt that she felt. Hot tears covered her face and landed all around her in a small pool. She stayed this way for far longer than she could conceive and when she became conscious again, sun was shining brightly through that little window and on to her face and there was knocking at her door.

XII

The knowledge that that damn Peters drank himself straight into the ocean by accident made Erik beyond enraged.

"What do you mean it was a fucking accident? It would have been far more respectful if he had walked in to get run over by a goddam boat and spit out for fucking sharks!"

"He wasn't fit to be trusted," he heard Nadir remark over the phone's speaker, "not even with his own life. This might be better for us. We are not so far from exposing Phillip and it's amazing he hasn't come onto us as much as we expected him to. With Raoul out of the way, it may help us remove him while he's distracted."

"No, they were never so close emotionally. Still, as neither of us celebrate this holiday and they're mourning we might be able to get ahead on our tasks. Regardless, make an order to send flowers to their residence as we are the first to find out. Leave a nice note as well. Something with the right amount of feeling."

"Right sir, anything else?"

"No, that will be all. Thank you for this information. I'm going to work."

And they ended the conversation there. As Erik did his real work underground and was thankful for days where he was unrestricted by time, he began to set a few larger financial traps for this component. Now that Raoul was out of the way, more things could be made public such as his alcoholism and his unethical spending towards personal pleasures and escorts. Phillip would be exposed for having known all of this and the public would lose trust in their once quiet future Vice President. Erik looked forward to have the silent man speak.

Eventually his stomach began to rumble so loudly that it pulled him from his work. He hadn't remembered eating in at least a day and decided to make himself a sandwich from upstairs. The bright light that bounded of of all the snow was almost blinding even with his windows tinted. It might as well have been a hangover, but instead of letting that distract him, he pulled out a bottle of good Brandy and poured a glass over ice before heading for the kitchen.

Turning on BBC news, he learned nothing new as he made his plain turkey sandwich on rye bread. There was nothing else in his refrigerator besides the turkey, some milk, yogurt, and a few eggs. He rolled his eyes. Fine food was a waste on him. Everything common and readily available tasted the same.

Flipping to NBC Washington, he began to find out what the rest of the city was just discovering. He watched as a news reporter he had never seen before spoke in an overly professional tone about the situation in Miami and what the family was planning to do with Raoul's estate and the like. The stock footage rolled to a speech Raoul had made during the last year, something about clean water for Pittsburg, and from the corner of the camera's view was a tired looking young blonde, wearing second hand business attire.

Christine Gallagher.

"Dammit," he cursed under his breath as far too many negative thoughts of her insecurities and possible bursts of female passion came to mind.

Hardly making time to turn off the little television, he was suddenly grabbing a coat and heading out the door. Snow covered his feet and soaked his pant legs. He was not wearing boots. That was stupid. Hardly anyone had been outside around him so there were no foot prints in the snow besides bird's feet and filled in prints from owners walking their dogs earlier that morning.

There were hardly any clouds in the sky which made the snow stand out even brighter than before. He didn't recall having grabbed his fedora, but was happy for having done so as he pulled it down to shade his mask from any possible onlookers from the windows. Every so often the sound of Christmas music would drift out from the row houses as he trudged by. The noise made him sick. Holiday's were such a waste of time and money.

Sweaty from exertion in the snow, and soaked to the skin from not wearing proper snow attire, he found himself in front of a normal looking pale green two story row house with a basement apartment door underneath. He trudged a little further, being sure to carefully make it down the few stone steps as the ice cycles that clung to the porch above dripped onto the little area in front of the door mat.

Shaking off the snow from his pants, he took a good peek at the normal looking door that had some paint flaking off from the corners. For a moment he wondered what he was doing there. He cleared his throat. He had to protect his investment, that was why. They still had a lesson lined up that night and her showing up with a sore throat and clogged air ways from crying all day would not be acceptable.

He knocked on the door with purpose.

Nothing.

Again.

He thought he heard a groan inside.

"Ms. Gallagher open the door."

His words were followed by shuffling, finally the door cracked open, a chain lock still overing the opening, just above her blue eyes.

"You look wretched." He snapped.

Her eyes may as well have been swollen shut, she wore a grey hoodie and purple sweat pants with no shoes, instead, thick fluffy striped socks covered her feet. Her hair was in knots and tangles, and make up from the day before hadn't been removed before she found out the news because black was smeared on her cheeks and back of her hands. In recognizing him and his reaction, she made attempts to remedy this, first brushing under her eyes to remove the makeup, then smoothing her hair as best she could manage.

"What are you doing here?" she asked while doing these minor physical alterations.

"I came to check on my investment. Clearly, you are abusing it."

"I'm not-" tears were beginning to form in her eyes and the lump in her throat was almost visible, "I'm not going to-to-"

Erik looked over at the ice build up above his head as a droplet hit his forehead under the mask. He was no good with women's tears, "Are you going to leave me out here, Ms. Gallagher? What kind of manners are these?"

"I want to be alone." Came her hallow voice.

"Don't you want to find out why I came myself instead of sending someone here to check for me? It's not the best day to be taking walks."

"Our - whatever it is - is a secret. Why would anyone other than yourself need to check on me?"

"Ye of compact faith. And imagination. I decided to come here to distract you from making anymore careless decisions. Throwing a political game your way wouldn't seem like a good alternative as it may have been yesterday, therefore, here I am."

"I don't want to talk." She spat.

"I imagine you've never been fond of that. Otherwise, your singing would be better." She was ready to speak, but he put a hand up, "I'm not leaving. Will you let me in?"

She looked down to the floor for a second as if deciding. Finally, she looked up, "Will you order me a pizza?"

He laughed at the thought, "As if anywhere is open today!"

"Ch-Chinese then?" She quickly covered, "Will you order me Chinese?"

"You can't order it yourself?" He retorted.

She sighed and narrowed her eyes at him, "I'll let you in if you order me Chinese, deal?"

"We already had a deal-"

" _My_ house. _My_ deal."

"You're a renter."

"Fine!"

He caught the door before it shut, "Let me in and I'll order whatever the hell you want."

She made a passively pleased sound, shut the door long enough to undo the chain, and let him in. He passed by the mess of an apartment with clothing scattered in very specific piles across the room. She looked around at everything as his eyes made a circle around the room.

"I was in between laundry yesterday. I'm not normally like this." She pointed out with a dry mouth.

"You need to drink water."

"You need to order me Chinese."

They were at a stand still for hardly a moment when he finally pulled out his phone.

"Do you have a place of preference, Ms. Gallagher?" he asked professionally, "I am unaccustomed to having to do such tasks myself."

"No. Just get me fried rice, and sweet and sour chicken." He was ready to type in near by delivery places when she added, "And sweet and sour soup." Readying to type he heard, "And a Sprite. Two Sprite's and an egg roll. That's it."

"Are you certain?" He asked annoyed.

"A… fortune cookie."

Without words he looked her, daring for her to say something more, but when she didn't, he went to make the call the closest place he could find open. He didn't understand a thing the woman said on the other line and switched to speaking Mandarin. When he was finished, she was sipping on water from a spotted plastic cup. There was a part of him that wanted her to comment on the fact the he just ordered Chinese in a native Chinese language, but she did not.

"Where did you call to?"

"Some place called Good Danny's. It was the only place open willing to deliver."

She snorted into the cup, "I try to avoid that one. Raoul got a bloody chicken one time."

Her smile faded quickly and she set the cup down lightly on the small kitchen counter she had behind her. Her lip trembled and her eyes became pained. A painful broken inhale was heard.

"Tell me the truth: Why did you come?" She asked keeping her eyes to the floor as her weight shifted to the counter top.

"I wanted to make sure you weren't making terrible decisions that would lead to following you ex-employer."

"You could have called." She whispered.

"I can't imagine you would have picked up."

Her eyes went up to his as he stood in the middle of her one bedroom apartment, "What does it matter?"

"You matter. Why would you question one of the few people to say that so bluntly?"

"Like you mean it. I'm just another investment. And I can't imagine how that's ever going to be any pay back for you."

He half heartedly laughed, "I like you when you're like this. You aren't so afraid and half-assed. Bound to make a good lesson later."

She pointed to herself, "I can't sing like this!"

"Not your decision."

She sighed and her voice tremored again, "Okay, look I'm not dead and I'm not doing anything stupid. I'm fine. So give me some space and I'll do my best to show up tonight."

"Is this you going back on your own bargain? I'm here until the Chinese comes."

They stood there for a few moments, none of them willing to let down until she sighed again.

"Fine. _Fine_! Okay, you win, _again_. Happy?"

"I have no feelings on the matter." He stated plainly, "Good business leaves out emotion."

"Whatever. I'm going to watch something that doesn't ask me to think. You can stay here, but I don't want to talk."

He shrugged, "Save your voice. I will not push you."

"Good." She moved to the old torn couch and sat down with her computer, "Sit or something."

He shrugged again and moved towards a two-chair corner table near the door that screamed aging second hand Ikea. Taking a seat in the uncomfortable plastic chair, he kept his phone out to keep reading news reports. Still nothing new that he didn't already know. Many things were annoying based on the holiday and family and feeding people. How mundane.

Her headphones were on, but every now and then, her eyes flickered up to meet his. As this happened often, she would immediately look back down to her screen with a huff. This young lady was incredibly distracting. She had so many emotions pulsing through her at once and he was enjoying the show as it was much more interesting than the same dribble that happened every year on that day.

Eventually, she seemed to focus in on whatever was on her laptop and her eyes softened and relaxed. This didn't last long as tears began to form, creating a glossy look to her blue eyes. Erik looked back at his phone for the time. The Chinese was sure to take a long time, but they had to come as he would be paying in cash and they wouldn't be getting anything without them showing. There was too much snow, as far as he knew they would be walking from where ever the hell they were located.

Quick movements from the corner of his eye caught him. She was wiping away tears now, occasionally her nose under she was leaving the computer and headphone behind to go to the kitchen for something to take the water away. She was then slightly out of sight as there was a little jut out of wall that must have served as shelving space on the other side. The sound of a sniffle was heard and Erik couldn't help tensing up.

Why was he there? He didn't remember the trek over there. He didn't even remember making any sort of conscious or logical decision to leave his house at all. And now she was crying only a thin wall away from him. He didn't deal well with any kind of human emotion, especially what resulted in women crying. There was no point to this. As honest as his claims had been, it wasn't like she was suicidal like her idiot ex-whatever.

Raoul Peters, what an imbecile. What a goddam fucking idiot. And that was saying it nicely! He was given everything and he was the best at practically throwing it away to waste. He was born into luxury, hardly had to worry about gaining donors for his campaigns having grown up around free wealth, was elected and did nothing of value, had whatever women he wanted, including a naive Christine, and he was so lacking in appreciation that he through it all away to the damn ocean! Literally!

Knowing what he knew of the girl, whose cheap, but a one bedroom basement apartment of relative safe location, he sat in, it didn't click with him why in the world she would want him. Despite his original ideas of her sleeping her way to the top of the office, she now appeared to truly care about him, whether that be lover or employer. He had been nothing like her, even cheating on her and drinking himself away from her and everyone else, but here she was mourning over him.

He stood and took a few steps to the kitchen, still unable to see her.

"Why does Peters matter so much to you?" He asked through his teeth, the thought that she would throw everything away on a boring frat boy who knew nothing of music bringing him to stilled anger.

"You think you know everything, don't you?" she whispered and he took a silent step closer to catch whatever she said, to hear her breathe as an answer if necessary.

"I've told you not to underestimate me in that respect."

"That doesn't mean you understand, though. I worked so hard for a year. I improved the entire office and that cleaned up his image. The state of Pennsylvania should give me an award! You must know how much of a feat that was! I was going to be fine for a job for a long time. And now- and now like everything else…" She finally yelled, "It's all gone!"

Erik chose not to mention that she just improperly used her voice. He was too interested in sucking more information on what she was thinking out of her. His follow up to her was quiet and clear, "You financial situation is secured with your employment to me. Nothing is gone. Except for Peters, of course."

Her head poked around the wall. She looked awful. Red eyes. Red nose. Pale complexion. Her efforts at hiding this on a daily basis were failing, despite the tissue she held in her hand to keep cleaning it up.

"Are you so shallow to not understand what he meant to me? I was finally succeeding in something. I was finally doing well for me in something more than just general survival."

"Now you will succeed in something else." He noted as he crossed his arms.

"No, _you'll_ succeed in something else if this whole stupid thing even works. It'll be for you, not me! Don't come here and act like you can fix someone like me. You have no idea! No idea about anything about me except that I'm fucking broken!"

His eyes narrowed in interest; not because she was shouting at him, but because she was speaking all of this properly and her voice flew and bounced all around the room with its power. While this was impressive, it occurred to him the reason for her being able to support the statement so well was that she completely believed it. As this was depressing, he did not believe in pity and therefore was unable to relate to her emotional self deprecation. He chose a different route to combat this. It would make the outcome he wanted harder to achieve, but he already knew needed full quality from her, nothing but honest feeling through music.

"If you're so convinced that it's only for me, make it for you. You chose to be a god forsaken aid to the former Representative Peters, choose to do something for yourself besides long hours are hardly any real gain. He was a worthless task, you on the other hand are not. If anything, this ought to make my offer more appealing. He'll never have to know, and you'll never have to know how your two week notice would have affected your relationship."

Immediately she snapped back, "How often are you in relationships Dr. Underwood? You think you know so much! As far as anyone knows, you've been a bachelor forever! Mask aside, I feel your wealth and power ought to be enough to draw in someone. So there must be some other issue that stands between you _ever_ understanding how I could feel right now!"

He must have growled or made some kind of unpleasant noise, but she immediately looked back at him and took a half step back into the kitchen, fear now behind her tear glossed eyes. He had seen this reaction before on others. She had made the mistake this time and when he took even the slightest step forward, it was obvious who was the real rival in the room.

"Want to know a secret, Ms. Gallagher? Are you prepared? I doubt you could be."

* * *

 **Want to see my visual inspirations? Check out capitolintent DOT tumblr DOT come :)**

 **The more I write about Raoul, the more sad I become. This chapter was another spin from House Of Cards. If any of you get a chance to watch the show, I hope you get the idea of him being wrapped up in intentions that he understood to be good, but were the same ones paving the road to misfortune. However, if you do watch HOC *warning: spoiler*, you'll know that I didn't use Erik to kill him off...Even though I seriously considered it... I'd love to know everyone's thoughts on the matter. Seriously, hearing what you think about things really helps me to understand whether you understand what I'm trying to convey. Thank you!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Hello! I hope everyone is enjoying the holiday season! I wanted to add a few thoughts on the last chapter - thank you all so very much for those who have left me their thoughts - having Raoul pass wasn't my go-to thing to do. In fact, it wasn't even really my favorite choice either. When I was writing this, I kept coming up blank with what needed to happen to push the story along and this kept popping up as the best choice. I know it was sudden and unexpected and that's how I wanted it to be. He didn't mean to pass out in the rising tide and people die from this more than the news will say anything about it (note the "no alcohol on the beach rules"). I'm not traditionally a Raoul basher so I hope those of you who enjoy well rounded R/C don't hate me too much!**

 **Also, fair warning, Erik is not the happiest of dudes right now (ever?) and while he has clear interest in dissecting Christine for musical talent, that still doesn't make him someone to run and confide to. He's being human. He's being a business man and a politician. He's not being fluffy and this chapter gets a bit dark for everyone involved. That said, hang tight! There's about to be a lot of E/C character development in the following chapters.**

* * *

 **Chapter Thirteen**

 _"Want to know a secret, Ms. Gallagher? Are you prepared? I doubt you could be."_

Christine stood motionless, deaf of sound, like a deer before a spotted hunter just short of a shot, "You know as well as I that marketing ploys are only so true, that what people need to believe for the greater good is not always what they choose to believe. Well here is a tip to my acting abilities as a politician. You see, Ms. Gallagher, to say that I am so healed, so much that my past scars are simply blemishes to conceal, is all a political ploy for my image of hope and justice, but now that we are alone, I'll tell you an even deeper truth: there is a specific reason why no one in office mentions my mask, for if they do, their days on the hill will be quickly numbered. If you so much as dare to utter a single syllable that brings attention to this again, you will see the streets as a residence once more faster than you could even blink."

Sun shined through the gated back door that led out from her kitchen and made her golden hair shine brighter from behind. It was hard to see her face as it was in shadow, but he had no doubt that his message had been understood. She had backed up into the sink behind her, her arms stretched out to keep her standing and it was evident that they held much of her weight. Breath flowed in and out of her mouth until she shook her head stiffly, wiping her eyes hastily with her hands.

"I…I didn't think."

"Irrefutably."

A long pause stood between them as if it were a being itself.

"It's not like my track record is so much better." She said to the floor, "I dated Raoul Peters. It's not like that says anything. He dated-or something- everyone. I am not innocent to this."

"You would be a fool to deny it," He agreed coldly making her noticeably shiver and wince as if struck.

"Right." A frustrated laugh came from her, "Where is that Chinese?" She tried to breathe through her nose and had to turn around for a way to wipe up what happened after. Erik took this chance to move himself back into the living room, even back to the window to look outside.

No one was out there, everyone was inside making their evening Christmas feasts or whatever people did on Christmas. Growing up, Erik experienced a lot of different Christmas's, even one misplaced attempt at Chanukah. No traditions would stick with him. His mind drifted and wondered what Ms. Gallagher had grown up around. Did her father do anything? What was that like? Was she ever wealthy enough to actually receive anything?

Light steps padded hesitantly onto the carpeted floor from the kitchen. Erik kept his eyes to the little window, waiting to hear the sound of her taking her place on the couch again. This didn't happen and he turned around to see what she was doing. Nothing. She was just standing there, staring at the floor just in front of him. He knew nothing was there. What was she thinking?

Too many stupid questions. Time for a well assumed statement.

"You don't celebrate Christmas, Ms. Gallagher."

"No," she replied quietly.

"I suppose most people who grow up in a single family have traditions that they relate to. I never had that. Too many 'families,' too many cracked traditions."

"Both my mother and father died on Christmas…different years. She had been working at a soup kitchen and was hit on the way home. So, we never celebrated, well, maybe we did, but I don't remember them. I only remember her not being there one morning. Then him not being there and a nurse trying to hand me some bear with a silly red hat on its head. Christmas can rot. Everyone celebrates some birth and I get to think about is death. Now I have someone else I can add to that list. This date is cursed."

"I see." He chose not to go into that matter, to not encourage it, as he was not the soothing type of person for anyone, "I suppose eating rotting cheap Chinese food is as good as any holiday. But only once a year in order to avoid health problems."

She laughed half-heartedly, "You don't eat Chinese much, do you? It tastes good even if it's terrible for you."

"Correction: I do not eat Chinese food with less than five stars attached to the rating. I prefer to keep tabs on what I ingest. That bloody chicken might have been a cat."

"Poor cat."

He looked at her further. She stood tall, but not straight. There was still a great burden on her shoulders. Still, there was a light that shined in from the sun to the snow that burst through the window and landed lightly on her face. A simple smile lay there, just simple enough that it lightly reached her eyes just enough to be genuine. There was hope there, most importantly, there was perseverance. Suddenly, Erik realized exactly why he was there, why he had felt such a need to see her so early in the day. He had found just what he needed in her right there as she stood with one hand clasp lightly just above her hanging opposite arm.

They were survivors. She didn't need him there, she would have found this revelation without him, but he wanted to see it happen, he needed to see the exact realistic transition from turmoil to moving forward. She had what he needed from her, she had exactly what needed to happen to go beyond anything she ever stepped on when her family died, and there was something about the light glow that lay on her that settled his own inner mixed workings. She wouldn't see it, maybe not for a long time, but they would be good for each other. In some way or another, they would work out just fine.

XIII

Erik followed through with his word and stayed with Christine until the Chinese arrived. Granted, it took over two hours for it to finally get there and of course she had to make a plate to put into the microwave to force it anywhere close to redeemable Chinese. For a while, the two of them didn't say much. She had told him that she needed to start answering emails and he mused over needing to do the same thing. As he sat at the corner table and she on the far end of the sofa, she found the silence between them was not as uncomfortable as she thought it would be. Eventually, kids were heard playing on the snow outside and the sounds covered the previous noise of tapping on a keyboard.

It was easy to simply paste one canned email from one field to the next. People were contacting her from the office, asking what they would do, sending each other condolences. She made sure to send an email out explaining all she knew that was happening and that it was possible for them to keep their positions for the next Congressman who would rise to take Raoul's space. Everyone was being very kind and respectful on the matter and she was amazed at the outpour from other aids who reached out to her on their holiday. She never imagined she had so many people who cared about her or Raoul before this. It was easy to handle it without feelings, as if it were simply another office email.

At one point she looked up from her screen and turned her eyes over to the man sitting on the far side of the little living space. She still couldn't believe that he was there. Was this really all about her voice? She thought about the strange unfortunate hard life he must have had, how it was so far away from what Raoul had and yet Raoul with all of his privilege was now dead.

Dead. What a solid, specific, and relentless word that she knew all too well. How many close people around her had died. She wondered who was next. Who was going to catch the Christine Gallagher disease next? Meg flashed into her mind and the thought chilled her core. She needed to talk to Meg again. Meg would surely be worrying about her and what in the world would she think if she ever found out that her only company that day would be from Erik Underwood.

Making a quick visual sweep of the room, she saw her phone dropped near the doorway of her bedroom. Once making it over to see the screen, she found five texts from Meg, one call, and a voicemail. She sighed thinking how thoughtless of a friend she had been to the only person who cared to connect with her beyond email.

Looking up, she found Underwood staring at her. He eyes holding many thought behind them that she couldn't reached. Straightening up from the floor she asked, "I need to call someone. I haven't talked to her since five and she's probably worried."

He waved his hand in dismissal and it bothered her that it looked as if he were giving her permission even as she was simply trying to be polite. She imagined that he was used to having to give or take permission from others. The thought of being his aid made her cringe and she felt a special kind of sympathy for the man she had met the other day.

After closing the door to her room, she swiped her phone to call Meg. It only rang once.

"Christine, hon are you alright? I've been worried sick!"

"I know Meg, I'm sorry. I laid my phone down and didn't think to pick it back up."

"Wow you uh…you sound a lot better. Are you feeling better?"

She was right. Her voice had cleared up and she was breathing naturally again.

"Considering everything, yeah, yeah I guess I am. I'm getting Chinese."

"Oh…Did Mrs. Valery not cook anything?"

Christine realized her slip too late.

"Uh, no she is, I was just got hungry first and Chinese was faster."

A long sigh met her ears, "You're not really in Baltimore are you?"

She didn't answer immediately, the truth would be painful, but she knew better than to lie to Meg, "No Meg, I'm not."

"I was worried you were lying but I didn't want to believe it. And of all days to be alone!" Meg was yelling now, "When you didn't pick up or answer back I didn't know what to think!"

"Please don't be angry," She answered quietly, "I'm fine really."

"But you shouldn't be alone. Shit I should have made you come with me!"

"But Meg, Meg I don't _do_ Christmas. I just don't celebrate. I don't have family or anything or whatever so-"

"Christine, I am your family now, okay? God what do I have to do to make you see that?"

"I…" Her words cut her to her heart and the realization made her drop to her bed and put her elbows to her knees. She had forgotten what family was. "Thanks Meg." Was all she managed to say.

"I just wish you would believe it." Her voice was low and hallow, "After everything and this past year…I thought you knew that."

"I'm sorry, I…it's just hard for me to think and…" She sighed, "I'm sorry. I suck at this."

"It's okay, just, just try not to act so strong around me. It's one thing on the hill and that's good, but it's just me, remember?"

"Yeah… Yeah, you're right." She said sadly, "I think I need a vacation. Or something. I don't know what I'm thinking anymore."

"You and me both. And coming to Annapolis with my mom isn't exactly a vacation. We should plan something nice and get away. A cruise or something where we don't get cell reception."

"I can't even think of what that would be like."

"Me neither!"

The women laughed and it felt so good for Christine to have a simple positive release. Meg was right, they were family. She was all Christine knew now and the only person in the world she could ever really trust since her father died. Meg had been there all along and Christine could be such a bad friend sometimes.

"Meg, I'm going to try to be a better friend, okay?"

"Christine, you don't have to-"

"I mean it though. Seriously, you're the only person I have left. I'm not going to screw this up, I mean it."

"Well…well, we'll take that vacation and be fine."

"Good. Good I would like that a lot."

The sound of her door bell made her turn around.

"Finally! The Chinese is here! I've got to go!"

Meg laughed, "Okay, well, call back if you need to. And you'd better answer every one of my texts today! Mom is already wound up and I need someone to vent to."

"Okay, I will, I promise. Bye Meg!"

"Take care, hon."

On her way out of the bedroom, her doorbell rang again. Erik was now on the opposite corner were he would be hidden from the man at the door once it was opened. He held out a fifty dollar bill to her as she came near.

"He can keep the change." He muttered.

The young man at the door gave her a filled bag of food and was all too excited over the big tip that was left. Christine noted that he may have walked ten blocks or more because of the snow and was grateful that Erik understood the value of tipping well. When she was back inside she looked back at Erik, wondering why he hadn't paid himself.

"No one needs to know I was here, do they?"

"I guess not." She looked at the plastic bag tied over the paper one inside then back at him, "Thanks for the Chinese. I think I'll have to reheat it though."

"More than likely. And now that you have it, I believe I shall depart. Our deal has been seen though."

"Right," he made no move to the door as she set the bag down on the table. They stood in awkward silence for a little while as each of them waited on what the next one was going to do first. "Well, um," she started slowly, "Yeah, I'm going to eat now."

"Of course."

He still didn't move.

"Okay," she followed slowly, "So…"

Suddenly he was all business again, "Settle what you need to settle this afternoon, but our business for tonight remains the same. It that understood?"

"But-" the coldness in his eyes cut her off and she complied, "Okay. I'm going to sound-"

"I'll be the judge of that!" He snapped. For a moment he stood his ground, but calmed his demeanor after that to say, "You should rest before then. Save the more strenuous duties for tomorrow."

"Thanks," she remarked dryly.

He walked to the door and just before opening it he quietly noted, "You ought to be kinder to me now that I am your only source of income."

As soon as he said it, he was out of her door. Stunned, she stood in the middle of her living room. What weight those simple words had. He was right. He was so very, very right. Sure, she could get another job, live off of unemployment until that happened, but was that what she really wanted? At the same time, what if Underwood suddenly grew smart with this charade and did away with everything? If that was the case, she was simply have to save her funds. Collecting unemployment would be the first step as it would only require the paperwork. Then, she would save the money from Underwood, pack it away in case she ever needed to start over.

Starting over…how many times would that need to happen? And Raoul, poor doting yet carefree Raoul was dead. Two of the men she ever truly wanted to be around in the future were gone. The tears started to swell in her eyes, but instead of letting them affect her further, she went tore open the plastic and paper bags until she found the the fried rice, opening it, and plunged a plastic fork into the cold food.

This would not be the end of anything. She wasn't willing to go back to living in an old musty car and showering at the YWCA for months as she went in and out of fruitless interviews. That was done. There was only forward from here.

XIII

"I've done what you've asked. I have more information that has been covered up in addition to information that has already been released. From here, all we need is for it to be released without us being attached to it."

Erik flipped through picture after picture of former Representative Peters as he had his arms around a new woman in each one. There were documents of bills that had gone sour, written complaints on his behavior and decisions all around his political career. Even a few pictures of him smoking and drinking by a beach with what looked like fraternity brothers and prostitutes. There were numbers, names, all of them women from the DC, New York, Pennsylvania, and a few other places. The final picture was of Tusk with him when he appeared to be younger than college, walking into a Parisian strip club.

"That one was when Raoul was seventeen." Doug said pointing at the photo, "It's an enlarged photo from a private investigator who was looking for someone else. They may not have been close, but this is very suspicious, if not disgraceful for the image he's set up. Secretary Peters has a very private life, this might be a reason why, or at least a reason we could push."

"Well done Doug. Very well done." Erik looked up to his aid, "But you're right. We need to figure out a way to leak it."

The men were quiet for a moment as they thought.

"I know what to do." Erik finally said, "It will be leaked through Meg Barnes."

"She's a young journalist for the Harold right? She was at the Kennedy Center."

"She's the one."

"How? Do you have a connection there?"

"We will build one. She is very young to be where she is, but her stories are not being taken seriously. For her to have such inside knowledge would allow her to move forward. She should not decline such an offer of information."

"And she will get this information how, exactly?"

Erik thought for a moment, finally cocking his head to the side and letting a sideways smile cross the visible side of his face.

"You will give her a copy of this folder."

"As in…she will meet with me?"

"Yes. You will call her tonight and we will meet the Anacostia Metro Station in an hour. Make it happen. Wear the usual."

"Understood. I will relay the message through the Source Two. Do you need anything else from me?"

"No, that will be all." Doug began to make his way out the door on his own before Erik added slyly, "Merry Christmas indeed, old friend."


	14. Chapter 14

**Happy New Year! Here's an extra long angsty-thought-filled-painful chapter for you! I'm really trying to focus on *why* and *how* Erik falls for Christine. I feel like that information is often skipped over in FF because it's easier to accept that he just does. There's a lot of character thought in this chapter, but I want it to be useful. I hope it's not too draining for anyone to get through!**

 **A huge THANK YOU to my 2 reviewers from Chapter 13 MaJuLiSaMi and AlwaysLaughing.x. I'll be real, I could really ****use the support as I've recently lost a lot of my motivation to write in Part 2. Part 1 will be around 20 chapters and I'd love to keep updating weekly!**

 **To all those people who keep up with me weekly, I see you on my traffic stats, I hope you keep reading :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Fourteen**

Meg had a very interesting time explaining to her mother just why she had to return to the city on the night of Christmas. All the while, her mother stood tall and thin, her now grey hair in a smooth tight bun on the back of her head.

"It's for work, Mama."

"Work can wait." Her mother said, an intimidating knife in her hand as she cleaned it, "It's Christmas."

Meg sighed, "News doesn't stop because of one Christian holiday."

" _Your_ news can."

"Mama," Meg threw a bag over her back with dread, "we used to be at competitions on Christmas. This is my competition and I have to go."

Her mother was silent and brooding, knife still in hand.

"Fine." Meg clipped, "If you're not going to take me then I'll call an Uber. Pray I don't die."

"You stubborn thing." She threw the knife into the sink, "Sometimes I think your getting fat just in spite of me."

"Thanks Mama."

They had already gone into the discussion that her no longer working out twice a day was leading to her thighs and butt losing their firm tone. Meg had been told by friends that she was finally looking healthy and she agreed with them. Her mother, however, thought very much the opposite about everything. There would always be a grudge there since she had the chance to train at the New York City Ballet and turned the opportunity down for a scholarship to go to Columbia University and be a journalist. Her mother didn't even know she applied until she left.

"You're not taking an Uber. I'll get the Hummer and you'll be safe about this. That's the end of it and I don't want to talk anymore on you skipping out on a holiday."

She sighed, "Thanks Mama."

Meg was sure she head the words, "Ungrateful child," as her mother walked away.

The drive from Annapolis to Washington was quiet and the roads were already plowed. It was later into the evening, but she was still hoping to catch the last train into the city from the closest metro stop which was New Carrolton. She checked her watch. Ten-thirty-tree. There was enough time to get there by midnight before the trains stopped. It was surprising enough that they were running at all that day.

It was exciting too. The last time she received an encrypted call about a scoop was in college. It was a story about hazing and she ended up busting an entire fraternity for trying to make their recruits eat their own excrement. Her story busted the group wide open and the ten men in charge of it were expelled. Granted, she was black listed from all Greek parties after that. People called her names and tried to prank her. It only gave her more encouragement to pursue internships and finish school early. She graduated half a year early and was one of the few to get a job straight out of college with a paper well worth its weight. As far as she was concerned, it was worth papers ate up that sort of work. "Brutal and heartless for the sake of justice," they called it. She was fine with that.

When they got to the station and she was dropped off at the Kiss and Ride, Meg pulled out her phone, "Call Christine," she said to Siri. The phone rang many times. Meg wondered if it would go to voicemail, but on the last ring, her friend picked up.

"Meg?" came a hoarse voice.

Meg slid her metro card across the scanner and shuffled her duffle bag to get through the gate. She noticed the metro attendant watching a video from his phone.

"Hey hon, god you sound rough. How are you?"

"I…" there was a long pause as Meg started to make her way up to the elevator with more speed. A train was already on the platform and she didn't want to have to wait another twenty minutes in the cold to catch the next one.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing I just…" she began to whisper, "I fell asleep."

"That's probably a good thing, hon." Meg said, sliding into the train car only seconds before a familiar double ring followed by a robotic woman's voice, _"Door Closing"_ , met her ears. She took a look around the train. A man sat on the opposite side of the car. She was in the front car with the engineer. She should be fine even if it was late.

"Yeah…right."

She could tell Christine was distracted as the train began to move. She took up two seats near the front and spread her things out next to her, looping the straps comfortably over her arms, "Is something up?"

"No, um, I just, I should go to bed. Not sleep…here."

"Are you at someone else's house?"

"Can I call you later, please?"

"Oh my god you scandalous thing!"

"It's not that, no I just, ugh I really can't talk now."

"You're safe?" she made sure to ask.

"Yeah yeah, I'll call you later bye."

The phone hung up before she could respond. This was a story she would have to get out of Christine tomorrow. The train continued its way and she eventually transferred over from the Orange Line to the Green Line. As there were very few people moving around the city at that time, the schedules were running much faster than usual and she was at Anacostia Metro Station sooner than expected.

Crossing the street, she pulled out her mace and clutched it in her fist. It wasn't noticeable to most, but she had to be cautious. This place was not exactly safe and she could only imagine the fit her mother would have if she ever had to call the police. Out of sight from the surveillance camera's of the metro, she turned towards the nearby closed shops, taking the first ally to the left that she came across. Before going down it, she took a good look. A man could be seen next to a dumpster. There was a light behind him and she couldn't see his face, only that he wore a long jacket that went past his knees and a baseball cap.

Her grasp on the mace and duffle bag tightened. She would have a clear shot of his face with both items if it came to that. She approached with quiet, but meaningful steps. It was one thing that dance had taught her and such physical movements made her stand out when she wanted them to. When they were three feet away he spoke.

"Once I give you this folder," he spoke with a heavy midwestern accent that she immediately tried to place and couldn't. She wondered if he was speaking this way to conceal himself further. Even at a close proximity, his face was hard to make out, "You will have until January second to post with a credible paper. Have it published no later. All accredited sources are included. Check them."

"Understood." She replied.

"If you do well, there will be more information for your career."

He held out a manila folder and she stepped forward to take it.

"You may go, now."

She nodded and backed away a few feet before turning on him completely. Making it back to the station, there was no one around to bother her. She felt a man watching her as he turned the corner. He made a move to follow her onto the metro when she made a quick change in position and asked the Metro assistant a question about transfers over the weekend. The man kept walking. She put the mace in her pocket.

The ride back towards U Street couldn't have seemed longer. She held the manila folder close to the inside of her jacket, not willing to look at it in a location where there were cameras present. Hailing a cab from U Street then eventually reaching her apartment in Adams Morgan, she dove up the stairs. The sound of the door slamming against the opposite wall shocked her once quiet room. It took her a second to remember that Cloe was at a pet sitting business. She still had another day to be there. It was probably best as this story was sure to take a solid day to collect and write.

Carefully opening the envelope, so to not ruin anything inside, she then cut her finger pulling the papers out of the documents out from the inside. There was no time to focus on the cut. It would heal on its own will. Moving her coffee table to better spread out all of the things equally, she made everything visible before taking a better look. All papers were arranged with what they belonged with. She paid close attention to page numbers and headings as she organized until everything was ready to take in.

Raoul Peters. He was everywhere. His name, his family, his face, his…women. There were so many. All of them were gorgeous and dripping in various assorted jewelry with designer dresses hanging from their perfect curves. Besides these features, there were no similarities between the women in age, height, or ethnicity. Her interest turned from professional to personal as she started to tear through the photos looking for the one person that she worried would be there.

Photo after photo, woman after woman and no meek, conservative, or sad looking blue eyed blonde came into view. Sitting back on her knees, she took a moment to think to herself, _How is that possible?_ The obvious story before her drifted away as she began to wonder whether Christine and Peters were able to cover their relationship so well, or whether the source was deliberately trying to avoid exposing her friend. Did the source know they were friends? What did that mean?

She took a closer look at the white typed dates on some of the photos. These were from a private investigator. The other photos were from security cameras and police dash board recorders. It was obvious that whoever had given her this information had the means to be watching Peters for a very long time. The most recent date was from one of the police cars. It showed Peters with a woman poking her head out of the passenger window. The woman wasn't Christine. Meg tightened her jaw and gritted her teeth.

Before diving in further, she thought about what she was about to do came to her. She was ready to sink her teeth into a real story, a story that would recognize her as someone to be reckoned with in the journalism industry. The only thing holding her back was what Christine would think. How she would feel when her former boyfriend would be revealed as even more of a playboy than he was yesterday. Or did she already know?

The fact that such a story would greatly disrespect a now dead man, was lost to her. Meg could feel a kind of heat, an anger growing in her stomach. There would only be one time to expose him before his name was not longer a hot topic. Suddenly, she wanted to expose him as revenge. She found herself hating him. Hating that anything had ever happened between him and Christine even as Christine admitted familiarity and brief happiness once things started to pick up for her life. Maybe if she could reveal this story quick, be the one with all of the information on hand, she could avoid her friend being found by anyone of worth.

Meg started to read the papers before her. Some of them were dead bills. One was a banking agreement between Phillip and Raoul over funds for his first election. It was then that the world stopped. That was illegal. There before her was proof that the soon to be Vice President Phillip Tusk had performed illegal activities while in office. Other letters were read quickly; letters between Raoul and his family. Proof of his family shaming him and telling him what his future would be. Most of which all came from Phillip.

Things like this happened all the time. That was no secret. It was that she had specific proof in front of her so long as it could be proven. Big was not an appropriate word before her. _History Changing_ was what came to mind. She would be accusing the American government, the Vice President of the United States of America for fraud.

This story would make her career. This story would make her life.

XIV

The look that Christine received from Dr. Underwood was the exact look that she was praying she wouldn't see as soon as she walked through the door to his house for their lesson. Christine knew what she looked like. She knew that Hell and her had been battling over whether her face would ever have any color left to it after having had thrown up all of her lunch.

"It was the chicken," she retorted before he could say anything, "I saw it…again. If it was chicken at all."

"Open your mouth."

"What?"

"And get into the light."

He started edging her towards the fire and with close proximity of his body alone, she began to stumble her way into the study. When she was in front of the fire, thinking that was where he wanted her, she saw him pulling out his phone and turning on the flashlight making her wince. He closed in on her again and she stepped back.

"What are you-"

"Let me see your throat." He said plainly, without emotion.

"No. That's-"

"God dammit, woman!" He boomed.

"Fine!" She threw her hands up in the air at the absurdity of it all.

Rolling her eyes, she opened her mouth wide. Fortunately, he didn't have to look long for him to audibly sigh and walk out of the room. After a few moments as his steps echoed down the hall, she poked her head around as his shadow was passing into the kitchen. Water was running. Metal clinked against glass. When she saw his shadow move back towards her, she slipped back into the study. He was in front of her quickly.

"Go to the bathroom. Take this," he handed her what looked like a half-full cup of what looked like water, "Do the following three times each: There is enough for three exchanges of water here. Swish the water around your mouth, each for a minute each then spit it out. Don't be an fool and swallow it."

Christine swished the clear liquid around, "What is it?"

"Expect the taste of salt."

"Is that what it-"

"Will you stop babbling and go!"

She followed his instructions as he told her to do. The taste of salt was present, but there was a strange bitterness that came with the taste as well. As she swished the liquid around her mouth, she took notice of the light gray painted walls and black granite sink and toilet. There was no mirror on the wall and there appeared to be no existence of one from before. She almost wondered if it was hidden somewhere. She didn't mind. She didn't want to look at herself anyway.

When she was done, she found him in the study looking at the painting above the fireplace. His hands were clutched behind his back and he stood straight, his mask shining towards her. The burning feeling in her throat was no longer present and she had only noticed it just then.

"How's your throat?" he asked quietly.

"It…feels a lot better. What-"

"No matter. You'll be fine. Stop talking."

That was easy enough to do. She watched him as he watched the painting. It was as if he could see the entire scene that was frozen before him take life and play out. There was something about his interest in the painting that made her want to see just what he was seeing. The painting looked just as it always had to her and as she was about to turn to sit on the sofa, his voice stopped her.

"As part of your education," he was looking at her now, "I want to re-expose you to real music. Each week, you will rest your voice and attend a performance of some sort. I will arrange the tickets and have already started to create a schedule of events. They will typically fall on Friday or Sunday nights, but as this case was unexpected, I believe it will be better for this audible education to start tonight."

"With…?"

"Enough talking from you! Now, sit down and stay quiet." He looked at her for a second, then quickly turned to the desk. Sitting on the side of his desk, he tapped on the top with his finger. A small screen lit up against his hand. He appeared to be typing something in with a single long thin hand, scrolling, then typing again. Seeming satisfied, he looked up to her again, "I think the first step for you will be to confront hearing the violin again. Make yourself comfortable. This will not be short."

Christine slowly retreated to the couch. A scowl crossed her face as she sit down. It was like he already took an ownership of everything having to do with her voice from her lungs to her ears. She watched as he made his way to the desk again, making contact with the top and sliding one finger forward. A dim light emitted again from the top of the desk and hit his white mask lightly. He appeared to be scrolling through a list of music. The visible side of his mouth twitched a little and he clicked at something with the tip of his finger.

Music began to pour into the room. It wasn't a wave. It wasn't a drip. It felt like a flood of feeling bursting from every crack that was invisible to her, but too apparent to the sound that ran into her, forcing her under beyond ability to breathe. The music seized her, stealing her breath, and forcing death upon her. Her eyes were shutting, her body was cramping together on the couch, trying to lessen the impact of the pain that came with the force of the sounds.

That sound. She had taken it from her memory. She had destroyed it, blocked it, and kept it out, but this…her barriers were all in pieces. And there was so much pain. The feeling of her now collapsed lungs hit her and when she gasped for the breath that felt like would be her last, tears fell from her eyes. The violin played on, accompanied by other strings, an orchestra, all building, all hurting her with each stroke of the bow. Her hands clutched her ears, wishing to tear them of, but knowing that it would do no good.

And as soon as it had begun, it was all over. There was silence.

"That was a piece by James Newton Howard. Do you know who that is?"

"I don't care," she spit, her hands still cupped over her ears.

"I believe you are in denial. No matter, for now." He snapped back at her. "Another piece to make you _care_ , then."

Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw him search for something else.

"No. No, no, no." She forced out of her throat, "I don't want anymore."

"We'll keep going."

Another piece blared around her, the same process as before. She felt death again.

"No!" she screamed.

"Keep listening," he projected above the music without needing to yell.

She looked straight up to him. He was still across the room, but was keeping eye contact with her movements and reactions. It was torture. A torture she no longer felt a need to endure. She found her feet, shooting what energy she had left out through an accusatory finger pointing his way.

"You can't make me take this! I've been through enough today!"

"What's one day in the course of a life? Why put it off another day?"

She shook her head, "I don't want to listen to you. Turn this off now!"

"Why? Why choose fight when flight is within such easy accessibility?"

"You're forcing me to stay!"

He motioned casually, "The door, Ms. Gallagher."

She stood and she almost noticed him flinch, "I don't need to prove anything to you!"

"You're acting as if you do."

"TURN IT OFF!"

With a raised eyebrow, he complied and they were left with silence. No cars from the street, no nightlife from outside, not even the sound of the crack of fire had faded out sometime during the song. Feeling coming back to her senses, she wrapped her arms around herself as a haunting chill had crept into the room.

"This is how you've been existing, isn't it? Turning everything off that you can't control. Living in the town that known best for lies and refutation. How does it feel to know you found the very place that suites everybody else who is running from something?"

"It's called survival."

"Indeed it is. Yet, how powerful would you be if this 'survival' became living?"

"What does me being able to listen to music have to do with power? The music industry is listened to and hardly heard."

He laced his hands over his lap. "Think less what the issue is, and more of what could be done once it's gone. How does your throat feel?"

She lifted a hand to her neck, "It feels…much better."

"And think how much awful this situation would be if you could not improperly yell to get your point across. A minor issue to fix, but a major addition to your needs for this evening."

Christine looked away from him, towards the fire that was no longer emitting a glow. A shiver crossed her shoulders. His legs came into vision, stopping just before the fireplace. He cleared his throat and her eyes went back to his.

"I'll make you a deal for the rest of the evening. You stay and listen to one last piece and I will let you depart early. I'll even light the fire again to make it more _enjoyable_ for you."

"And if I don't take this deal?"

He seemed amused, "Well, why wouldn't you?"

Slowly, with anger in every movement, she retreated to the couch. Without difficulty, he waved his hand near the fire place and the fire came back. Then, instead of going towards the desk, he veered toward to right of it, a corner. She couldn't see exactly how he made a violin case appear from what looked like a row of books, but somehow he did and was placing the case on the desk. Her eyes narrowed as he unlocked the clasped.

"Did you research mention that I played, Ms. Gallagher?"

"No," she whispered.

At this point, she was merely intrigued. Why would he play for her? Was he any good? If he was terrible, that would have been better. Somehow, she felt that there was no way such an emotionless, cruel character could have enough love and feeling to properly play anything besides lies and politics. He positioned the violin on his shoulders.

"Wikipedia leaves out plenty of interesting details, doesn't it?"

Before she could answer, he pulled the bow across the strings and that one finely tuned noted vexed her into silent submission. His notes were not as harsh as the recording had been, no, they were almost kind, like a lullaby, silent and peaceful. The song was lost to her, she had never heard it before, and she listened as his hands embraced the strings, moving the bow to embrace every piece with an individual relationship. It was beautiful and she did not feel the pain that she had felt from before. When the music had slowly faded away, she found herself missing.

"Another?" he whispered.

"Yes," she replied without hesitation.

She stayed. She listened. Her thoughts drifted to a time when she was seven and had to get stitched on her knee after tripping and hitting the side of a pool when she was at a friend's party. Tears were unstoppable, her father holding one hand, her mother holding the other, a friendly children's doctor in front of her holding a long needle in his hand.

 _"Now Christine this is going to sting, but once the sting is gone, you won't feel that nasty hurt anymore."_

She screamed and screamed, the needle went straight into the wound and the burn flashed in her brain. Just as she was sure her leg was ready to fall off, all the feeling was gone. In fact, she started to feel happy and air-headed. The world became a little hazy. When she gained feeling back in her leg, she looked down to find the doctor smoothing ointment over the now stitched up knee.

 _"I bet that feels better now, doesn't it sweetie? You're parents are going to make sure that you get all better. Be sure the receptionist gives you whatever color lollypop you want on the way out. You deserve it!"_

The buzz of her phone woke her up. She found herself curled up on the couch, a hand over the very knee she was dreaming out. In her dreariness, she thought how that ointment had help reducing scaring, how without the immediate pain she had endured, the remnants of that day would have left a much greater affect on her skin. Reaching for the phone in her pocket and seeing that it was Meg, she took a quick glance around the room. Dr. Underwood was gone.

"Hey hon," she heard Meg say after Christine grunted a cheap 'hello', "god you sound rough. How are you?"

"I…" Christine was getting up, preparing to catch Dr. Underwood watching her from somewhere.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing I just…" she began to whisper, "I fell asleep."

"That's probably a good thing, hon."

Her eyes darted from corner to corner. Nothing. "Yeah…right."

"Is something up?"

She couldn't shake the feeling that he was watching her even if she couldn't see him.

"No, um, I just, I should go to bed. Not sleep…here." Christine was standing and making her way to the hall.

"Are you at someone else's house?"

Christine signed angrily at how excited her friend was, "Can I call you later, please?"

"Oh my god you scandalous thing!" Meg said, her voice reaching higher pitches and Christine had to pull the phone away from her ear to try and save it from deafness.

A hand flew to her forehead, "It's not that, no I just, ugh I really can't talk now."

"You're safe?"

"Yeah yeah, I'll call you later, bye." With that she hung up. Still not seeing her host anywhere, she quietly made her way to leave. Dressing in her coat and outerwear, a quiet shift behind her made her turn. Dr. Underwood stood behind her.

"Um. Hello." She said sheepishly, "I didn't mean to-"

"I am sure you didn't."

"I'm uh, going to go now."

"Good. It is best that no one sees you emerge once it's daylight." He rose a finger to his chin and cocked his head to the side, "Otherwise the neighbors will get the wrong idea, won't they?"

She narrowed her eyes, "Right. So, bye."

"Till tomorrow evening. Rest your voice so that we may get the real work done."

"Right. Right."

And with that, she left into the glowing winter night. Her mind drifted as her feet hit the snow beneath her with hard crunches. There were other foot prints in the the snow that were from the day. A smaller pair with two larger pairs beside it caught her eye. For a moment, she stopped and watched the footprints stretch farther until turning a corner and going out of sight. She could almost see the small family and in doing so, saw her own.

It had been so long since she associated herself with having a family. When Meg said otherwise, the words had threatened to break her heart all over again. Meg was who she had left now. Meg was her only family and whatever happened, she wouldn't lose her small family. Come Hell, high water, or whatever, no one else would die on Christmas so long as she had anything to do with it.

What a curse. What an awful, awful curse. First her mother not coming home to take the turkey out in time, then her father apologizing for not being able to buy her the earrings she said she wanted, and finally Raoul gifting her with unemployment. Her thoughts finally drifted to Raoul. Poor, poor Raoul who despite all odds and terrible words concerning her, he still gave her a chance. She broke her back for him, not out of love, but out of loyalty and he was always so kind to her. There was a way that he could smile with his eyes when he saw her in the office. He would joke with her about old times and even could make her smile when he brought up her father.

No one else she knew could bring back her father the way he could. He told her how he liked listening to him play and how he would never admit it to anyone else, but he even liked listening to him to read to her at the pool. "I always thought how great it would be to be in a family like yours," he had said, "I never had much of one myself. You're lucky."

Tears swelled in her eyes at the thought.

"I don't feel so lucky, Raoul," she said quietly to the wind.

Trudging on, she recalled when he had first asked her to dinner. She truly thought that it was for her to brief him on the next financial bill, even as he told her it was casual. The entire dinner, she kept trying to shift back to work subjects until he finally took her hand and told her the truth that he liked her and wanted to spend more time with her like they used to do. She couldn't believe it. Shock was prevalent and he nearly laughed. Afterwards, Raoul offered to take her to a pool if it meant her opening up to him again. She finally laughed and he kissed her before dropping her off at her house.

He was a different man when he had too much to drink and she had too often researched the affects of alcoholism running within families. The combination of being with his family must have been insufferable. She was sure that he hadn't passed out by the beach on purpose. All his life he had pressed on to do whatever they asked him to do, despite them hardly being there for him. No, he was not honorable or truthful or even good, but Christine saw that he tried and for that, and for the ties to her past, she stayed with him.

Raoul really _did_ care about people. He cared very much about those in the office even if they were terrible at their jobs. Often times he would get behind on his work because he wanted to check in on others to see how their families and friends were. It wasn't to pry, it was because it cared about them. Christine saw a part of him that wasn't cut out for politics and that part was his genuine care for others above himself. It was seen as a weakness in the House and he worked hard to hide it when in session.

How strange life had been to Christine. How oddly things had turned out. Tears would be shed for Raoul again. He was a part of the happiness that was her childhood. However, she wasn't as sad as she could be. As much as she was uncertain of her surroundings, these singing lessons were something to take her mind off of things. Regardless of how much she wanted to say otherwise, her time with Underwood was a rare time where she felt completely present with her life. When he had played for her, she wasn't too far in the future or too lost in the past, she was right there in that moment.

No one else could fix her life, but she had to admit that letting Underwood help her back on her feet may not be the worst thing in the world when she had been through so much already.

XIV

Ms. Gallagher has fallen asleep. She had actually fallen asleep. That was…not exactly what he had been expecting. Erik sat at his desk watching as snow blew off the tops of neighboring trees and houses from the window across the room. He had watched her scamper out into the cold night from that very seat and never managed to leave it. The thought crossed his mind on whether she would make it back to her house safely or not. The second thought he had was, _Why do I care?_

Rather than being the casual sarcastic question, asking himself why he cared to help the poor girl was something very honest he had to remind himself to be aware of. She was young, close minded, and naive to her talent. He had never been one to take such interest or worse, pity, on someone who could virtually offer him nothing. There was possibility he could make a profit off of her talent in time, but that would take a lot of time and babysitting. He was at the point of snatching good talent that was already there, but take so much effort on a broken girl like Christine?

Such questions had been knocking his brain and somehow it was only after seeing her sleep did he allow them to come forth. When he finally looked up from his violin, he found her leaning against the arm of the couch, her knees still up to her chin like a child's, one arm on the back of her seat, the other wrapped tightly to her feet. Her eyes were shut, her mouth barely parted, and her low pony tail lay over her shoulder. His playing ended mid-song when he saw this. This couldn't be happening. That couch was not comfortable enough and his house wasn't a hotel.

Setting the violin down, he tried to make judgement calls on how best it would be to wake her. it was not common for him to have to do such a thing. If Doug were here, Erik would make him do it. For a moment, the thought of calling his aid to wake her up for him. Never mind, too much to explain all over again. And so the problem continued as Erik watched the young Ms. Gallagher sleep.

She hadn't worn any makeup that night. Her blonde eye lashes shown their natural color for once and did not hide the redness around her eyes. All those tears and mess for a man worth nothing but the money of this parents. Everyone knew that old money had been draining the family stepped from investing the closer they came to drinks and parties. Phillip was the only one left of worth between them. It would be a pity to exploit him. In the game of politics, it was nothing personal, just playing the diversion for the public.

How did a girl like Christine Gallagher get mixed up in this? She must have known how much she didn't belong in this place. She didn't belong in the heartless world of politics. There was a kind of simplicity when she slept, there must have been something of worth to save within a girl like this, right? Erik shook his head. This was nonsense. All of it was. There was no point in any of this, but amusement. Was watching a girl sleep amusing? No. That's sick. Did that make him just as sick? There he was doing just that. But he couldn't move. There was nothing further to do.

No, Christine Gallagher did not belong in the world of Washington D.C.. There was nothing for someone like her, someone who broke so easily at the sounds of quality music. It would be necessary to keep her away from all of that, to keep her outside of how distrait the place was. He would need to keep her practicing longer, need to keep her focusing on something that was good for her, to keep her out of the mess, of the world that could hurt her.

Erik came to realization of something. She was not in pain before him. She was not suffering from the outside or from death or anything the outside could throw at her. So long as she could stay there with him, she would be safe.

"That's fucking madness." He spoke clearly out loud into the air.

There was loan moan from Christine as she briefly held her eyes tighter. Erik froze. Now he would be responsible for staring at her when she woke up. She would be confused. She would ask too many questions. She… No, she was still asleep. Erik released this much with a quiet sigh. Madness. Madness this was, indeed.

When she finally awoke, which didn't take too long, he made himself scarce. She took a phone call and was careful to leave out any details. He imaged it was her journalist friend. Didn't Barnes have somewhere rather specific to be soon? When the conversation ended, he made himself known and showed her out.

He couldn't deny it, Christine Gallagher was turning out to be more than a simple amusement for him.

* * *

 **Teaser Trailer for Chapter Fifteen:** Washington DC gets hit with a huge snow storm during a music lesson. What happens when Christine can't leave for the evening? Let the E/C ensue! :D

 **Author Food For Thought/Discussion:** What if Christine's innocence is still in tact when she see's people other than herself? Everyone in this chapter has a different opinion on Raoul from different perspectives, what if the reason Raoul loved her was that she was the one who made him want to be the person she always saw? I feel it should also be noted that alcoholism is a real issue that can run through families and turns people into what they're not. Raoul is subject to this and Christine had genuine feelings for him anyway. Personally, my heart goes out to people like Raoul. I wish it were more more highly acceptable in society for them to seek the help they need to become the people they wish to be... but that's just my food for thought!


	15. Chapter 15

**Thank you so much for your encouragement. I really mean it, thank you.**

 **I really like this chapter. I hope you do too :) It's loosely based off of the snow storm of 1996 in DC where _everything_ shut down. **

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

 _Hi. There's a storm coming tonight. They say there's going to be ice this time. Rain check for lessons?_

 _That was not our agreement._

 _I know… But I need to be able to get home. I don't know if I'll be able to make it out there to begin with. It's supposed to start in the late afternoon._

 _Make the necessary plans._

 _Dr. Underwood, please. I don't think it would be safe for me to come out there._

 _No excuses. Be here._

Christine gave a heavy sigh. There was no pleasing this man. She looked up out of the window of her basement apartment. The sky looked white with the thick heavy clouds. It was a warning. Everything was pointing towards nature having its way with the northern half of the east coast. Everyone else would be hunkering down for a cold night. She looked around at all of the electric appliances in the apartment. It would be better to charge everything up now. The power would likely be out by the evening. How many blankets did she have anyway? She wished she could make it out to U Street to be with Meg. She always had big thick blankets all over her place and the combination of her and Chloe would be plenty of heat until the power came back on.

But no. She couldn't do that. She had to brave the weather the opposite direction for a damn singing lesson. This was beyond stupid. Didn't he know that having her trek out that way in the wind and ice would hurt her voice? Was it because he was bored because Congress was out on holiday? Probably. That made her feel like some kind of toy. What had she signed up for anyway?

As if she knew she had been thought of, Christine's phone started to buzz, Meg's name popping up on the screen.

"Hey Meg," Christine sighed into the receiver.

"Hey!" Christine knew Meg was trying to make her feel better already, "I was thinking that before the trains stop running, you should come over to my place. We can watch movies until the power goes out and I've got a whole box of popcorn to kill. What do you think?"

"I…I wish I could."

"What do you mean?"

Christine played with the fringe of her couch that was coming apart at the edges, "Well…" she thought of something she could say, a lie, but not a lie, "They're already behind on plowing the roads out here."

"Same here! 18th has been turned into a big sledding hill. We could grab a card board box and try it before the storm picks up!"

"Well," Christine fought the urge to start running out the door then, "See, you know the Red Line will be backed up. And it's a mile and a half walk to get there."

"Girl, you know you should take the Orange or Blue Line and get to the Green or Yellow."

"Right, well, still I'm looking at having to walk two or three miles and the snow is already high so the D6 can't be running."

Christine heard Meg sigh into the phone, "Is it because you just don't want to come?"

She immidately answered, "No! No, it's not that at all, really! Meg, I do really want to come over, believe me."

"Then why don't you?" This was making Meg sad, "Nothing like this has stopped you before."

"I know…Maybe it's just everything that's been happening. I'm not myself. I don't feel like me."

"So come over and remember yourself. I know you better than anyone, you know?"

"I know. God Meg, I wish I could tell you…"

"Tell me what?"

Christine paused. She had messed up and was making everything worse.

Meg's voice got more serious, "Tell me what, Christine?"

"There are some things, things with Raoul. I'm trying to tie them up. His family isn't being helpful. I'm trying to work at getting another job, too. There's just so much to do." That wasn't exactly a lie.

"Christine," Meg started out slowly, "You'll be fine. I know you'll be fine. There's plenty of work for you now. Everyone knows how well you managed his office and affairs for him. I'm sure so many people would love to have you on their staff. If nothing else, you should have unemployment checks coming for a little while. You'll be fine, I promise. You know I have your back and I'll help you however I can."

For a moment, Christine had to take all of these words in. The small flame of fear was always been blown every which way by Meg's confidence in her. Her eyes stung for a moment and she responded painfully, "Thank you, Meg. You really are the best."

"So why don't you come over, hon? I can help you with things if that's what you want. We'll probably die if we try sledding 18th with card board anyway."

A hint of a smile crossed her face, "You're the most amazing friend I've ever had, Meg."

"Then…you're not coming."

"No…no, I'm not. I'm so sorry, Meg. I really want to and I really wish I could."

There was a pause, "I still hate when you do introvert shit like this… But you're still my best friend. I need you too, you know. And remember I'm here if you need me."

"Thank you, Meg. I can't thank you enough."

"This might be for the better. I'm onto a story, but there are a few links I need to tie up. I'll see what I can do by candlelight."

"Good luck!"

"You too, hon. Don't forget to charge your phone so I can call you when I get bored."

Christine laughed, "You too."

"Bye, chica."

"Bye."

Christine looked out of the window again. Snow was beginning to fall and it wasn't even afternoon yet. She still had no idea how she was going to trek the half a mile to Erik's house when all she had were rain boots and one pair of boot socks.

After a half way attempt a cardio workout from some woman who liked to yell a lot on her YouTube, Christine had herself a late lunch, followed by a steaming hot shower. She blew dry her hair, reveling in the warmth, even as the wind from the cracks in her windows made her want to curl up in the steamy bathroom and never come out. She didn't even like snow, and now she had to plan for her walk to be twice as long just to brave it over to Dr. Underwood's house.

Bundling up in twice the amount of shirts, pants, coats, scarves, gloves, and hats, she made her way to the door with a backpack. She even brought another layer of dry clothing in her backpack for the trek home. She would not get stranded there tonight. She would make her way back no matter what. This entire situation was ridiculous and she would not make it worse. Covering up her mouth, nose, and ears with another long scarf, she made her way to the front door. The wind was picking up outside and the snow now had traces of sleet in it. She noticed that a thin layer of ice was beginning to form on the steps up to the street. She would have to be careful to keep to the snow to not fall.

This was going to be a long night.

XVI

Erik had been waiting at the window since seven-thirty. He watched as the trees swayed and how the sleet got thicker. It was supposed to be like this until after one in the morning. The wind was blowing hard enough that he wondered if it would blow over sooner. His generator had been set up and tested that day. There ought not be any surprises.

By eight twenty-five, Erik's mind sneered at a thought, _She is not coming._ To this thought, he growled. Just as he was about to pull out his phone to call her, her form was seen, trudging agains the wind and sleet. Remembering how thin she was, how frail her health, he immidately felt remorse. Why did he make her come out in this? Was it really worth her dealing with these conditions? She could be killed and he was making commands of her for his interests without thought to her…but he needed to see her again. The thought of not being able to see her for multiple days had stung him in a way that was past uncomfortable.

Shaking his head, he went to the door, opening it before she had made it to the gate outside his house. She didn't look up to see him, only trudging her way closer without expression. She slipped a bit from the ice collecting on the stairs and on impulse he reached out to catch her. She instead, caught the door frame in a shaking grip and made her way inside.

Erik quickly shut the door behind them. When he turned around, she had left the hall without having taken a thing off. He found her curled up and shaking on the heath of the fire place, the fire making her shadow seem huge against the room. He watched her from the doorframe as she slowly began to unwrap her head to reveal red ears and nose. Next she took off her drenched gloves, followed by another pair of drenched mittens. From removing two toboggans, her hair fell out in a tangled mess. She sat the items next to her on the stone and stared into the flames.

"Is this you telling me that you do not own any real winter wear?" Erik asked, his arms folded over his chest.

"N-no excuses," she murmured holding her red fingers up to the flames.

"No communication, more like."

Her eyes narrowed, "I a-agree."

She started to cough into the crook of her elbow. A sniffle of broken air followed. Taking the bag off of her back, she blindly went in with one arm, searching around until pulling out a small wrapped collection of tissues. Once blowing her nose, she stuffed the waste into another pocket.

"And you expect me to s-sing like th-this?" she coughed out.

This time his eyes narrowed, "There is plenty to be done."

"I'm sure." She muttered angrily.

"Are you in the condition to remove the other soaked items of clothing before they leak into the wood panels? I have a dryer."

With a sigh, she complied and took off her coat and boots. Bundling everything together, she stood and asked, "Where is it?"

He showed her the closet in the hall where the laundry machines were and allowed her to handle the rest as he filled an electric kettle with water. After turning it to two hundred and fifty degrees, he turned to find her at the door of the kitchen.

"It's very clean," she noted.

"A kitchen should be clean."

She nodded slightly.

"Would you like to sit down?" he offered.

She nodded again, picking one of the two chairs of the small table in the center of the room. He went to a cabinet and took out a lemon to slice. It was a small task to fill the time and he didn't want to talk about his reckless need to bring her out there. When the water was ready, he placed a quarter of the lemon into a cup, pouring the water over it. He set it before her, "Drink."

She didn't fight him on this and was quick to place her hands around the warm cup. He watched as she inhaled the steam. Her eyes were tied. Her body was aching. This was pointless. After a moment she looked up to him. They shared a weird eye contact until she broke the silence with, "Do you want to sit down?"

She was mocking him.

"Perhaps we should return to the fire."

Within a moment, she stood, her body shivering on the movement. Erik wondered if she was going to fall, but she did not. She forcefully made her way back to the Study, cup clenched tightly between her fingers. Once inside the room, he found her sitting next to the fire again, knees to her chin and arms wrapped around her legs.

A gust of wind hit the window of the room, catching Erik's eye. There was a slight release of cold air making its way under the door near by. The strength of this storm was turning out to be just as much as was predicted, surprisingly enough. His gaze kept to the window for a few minutes longer as if he knew what was soon to happen. The stubborn old man across the street refused to keep his trees in check.

The hissing of the wind outside began to mix with the old creaking of wood of the trees. Erik watched as the larger half of an old oak tree swayed violently with the wind until it was no longer a sway, but a pull of gravity. Three booming cracks of wood and the tree was down. It was the only above ground power source on the street and it had to be in the yard of such a stubborn loon. Without haste, the lights around him flashed out and the neighborhood was left in darkness.

His eyes turned to the girl sitting on the hearth. Her eyes were wide and staring at the window, but she had not made a sound. Her body was tensed, ready to spring from the spot if needed. The fire against her skin made her face and hair glow against the darkness. Erik took a step into the light.

"Not afraid of the dark, are you?" he poked.

"No," her answer was very quick and he started to wonder if she really was, "I wasn't sure how close the tree was going to fall."

"Only over the important thing. The single above ground power supplier on this street." He crossed his arms, "I don't imagine this storm is going to be cleaned up with any haste. This city is too backwards to function."

"I knew I should have gone to Meg's." Ms. Gallagher retorted, staring back into the flames.

Erik was under the impression that Meg had her work cut out for her and would be toiling to keep her friend in the clear of the next whirlwind to come in politics.

"We will stay by the fire tonight." Erik spoke, "For your sake anyway."

Ms. Gallagher turned back to him, "Tonight?"

"Would you rather the next tree fall on you, Ms. Gallagher?"

Horror crossing her features, she stood, "I'm not staying _here_. The agreement was over lessons, not accommodation." Erik didn't answer and she continued a little faster, "You can't keep me here, Dr. Underwood. I won't stay."

"Don't imply that I'm keeping you here against your will," he said quietly, turning slightly so that she had access to the door.

Her eyes went to the door, then to the window. The wind was still high and ice was making various sharp _tink tink tinks_ as it hit the glass. Erik had no intention of letting her believe that he was forcing her to stay with him. He saw her swallow hard. Her face fell and she sat down next to the flame again.

"You win," she said quietly, her voice lividly laced, "Now what?"

He walked away and up the stairs towards a closet holding various blankets, towels, and wash rags. Picking out a quilt he had been given by Doug as an ill placed ironic present the fifth year he had been reelected into the House of Representatives to, "Warm your heart a little." Erik bundled it under his arm and went back down the stairs.

Unfolding it at the door, he held it out to her with an nonchalant, "Here."

Her eyes met his skeptically, until she finally stood and took the quilt from him and placed it over her shoulders.

"Thanks," she muttered and sat back down.

This time, he followed her, choosing to sit on the opposite side of the hearth, just enough out of the light for his comfort. He caught her staring at him from the corner of her eye. Her blue orbs seemed to dance with the light of the flame so close to her. The redness in her nose had lessened, her cheeks, now pink from the warmth before her. For a moment, Erik wanted to feel that warmth for himself. Not through the fire, but through the skin of her cheek. When she looked away from him suddenly, he came back to his reality and just how absurd it was sounding to him. She shifted the quilt around her further, pulling it tighter.

"What are we going to do now?" She pressed on.

Erik thought for a moment. A music lesson would only be so useful now. He also took into consideration how long they now had together. She would be here for at least a day and there was suddenly so much that could be done. A kind of excitement started to rise in him. There were virtually no limits and so much progress could now be made. The very world that had corrupted her could not be turned out. He would hear her voice again, in it's fullest abilities, and there would be greatness here.

XVI

Christine's anger was so fuming that it surprised her that rage alone was not enough to keep her warm. Her body, exhausted from the storm outside, now covered in a quilt that he offered her, was all but shaking in rage. Why was he acting so calm about her staying with him? Was that his intent? Did he really have nothing else to do but bother her on her short vacation away from Capitol Hill? And now he was sitting beside her as if they were old friends having a nice chat. They were not friends. Erik Underwood had no friends. No high ranking political figures ever did.

His words startled her, "How did you come here?"

"By the will of my feet. Does this have to do with the lesson?"

"I am referring to your move to the district."

"The answer is about the same," she answered softly, deciding to let her question go unanswered. "How did you get into politics?"

"It's the only option for people like me."

This time she looked at him, "What do you mean?"

"You are not so daft. People looking for gain and power. Sure, there are some with moral conscience out here, but they dwindle."

"At least you admit to it," she looked back to the fire and pulled the quilt closer to her so that it came close with her neck, "Raoul never knew why he was in politics. I think part of him wanted to do good, but how could he ever know what good was with a family like that?" She caught him looking at her intently, if not surprised, but continued instead, "Did you ever really find out who your family was?"

"Of course I did." His honesty surprised her, "My father is dead and my mother died in jail after being put there for selling heroine. Her brain is so destroyed she never remembered having any children at all."

"Do you know if you have any siblings, then?" she pressed on, curious to know what the public did not.

"She got smart after me and had no more." He said in a dark tone.

His deformity. He was clearly implying that his mother had no more children due to the way he was produced. Christine looked to her feet, not wanting to let it show that she did hold some sympathy to what life must be life to have a marked face. She had seen different birth marks before, some burn victims too, most of which now went about life without cover and were more or less accepted. What made Underwood's face so awful that he hid it as he did? That was not a question to ask out loud.

The wind outside picked up and the sound me her feel cold, despite herself being comfortable in her bundle of quilt. She rested her head on her knees and kept her focus on the dancing flames before her.

"You will stay down here." He spoke, as if reading her mind, "It is the warmest room in the house."

Christine nodded. She had no intention of leaving the very spot she was in. A sigh left her. Such a strange position she found herself in. Her thoughts drifted aimlessly towards her dead lover. Where was he now? Heaven? Hell? Maybe neither? She wondered over the concept of God or no God after her father had died. Was it a normal thing to have so few people surrounding a person, only to have those people picked off by mortality? Maybe it was just her terrible life to have to deal with.

"You're right, you know," Underwood spoke, "I think Mr. Peters was a result of his society. I'd like to think that what happened was not intentional, just a mistake. That doesn't necessarily make him a heartless man."

Christine looked over to him, unwanted tears stinging her eyes. The media had already started up suspicions that it was purposeful, that Raoul, for having died, was a criminal for having passed out by the sea. Such words from someone of Erik Underwood's standing were beyond rare. "Thank you," the words finally came over the knot in her throat.

"I do not speak what I am not certain of."

She nodded. The words were kind, whether the facts had been checked or not. Erik stood, "I'm going to have a glass of wine. Would you like one as well?"

Her answer came with a shrug, "Sure."

Dr. Underwood went into the dark corners of his Study and emerged with two wide glasses and what looked like the same kind of wine she had been offered the evening before last. Sitting down again, he silently uncorked the bottle and poured them each a glass. She looked at how much liquid he had left in her glass and wondered if he had meant it as a gesture of getting her out of her head or not. He rose his glass to the flames and said confidently, "To the profession that brings death to all of us."

He didn't wait for her to respond before he took a helpful gulp of the wine. Slowly, she raised her glass, sipping just enough of it get the taste of it. It was a very bold tasting wine, with a bitter front and a slightly sweet after taste. The liquid was thick in her throat and she felt its warmth travel straight down to her now empty stomach.

Time passed surprisingly fast that evening as the conversation continued lightheartedly. The wine had certainly helped the tension. She had noticed Erik taking his down in larger portions than hers, but he didn't seem affected by it, at least, not in comparison to how she was feeling affected by it. The combination of a light dinner, followed by excessive exercise, and lack of sleep in general turned out to be nothing good for her head. At the same time, the feeling of losing worry and problems felt nice for a change. Suddenly, it was not talking to one of the more dangerous politicians in the country, it was more like talking to an estranged friend.

Thoughts were becoming easy words, guards she had placed over her chosen life were relaxed, and what was more interesting was how well he listened to her. For once, his questions were not sarcastic or mean, they read of clean sincerity. When she began to speak of the years she had spent as a nomad with her father, he did not ask about why it hurt to speak of him. He did not ask things that she did not want to discuss, instead, he fixated on times that she found herself smiling over, laughing even.

And the feeling was nice. It was nice to have someone who didn't know anything, who had no past that connected to hers, to just listen. She had learned to not bore those at work with long stories, or tell them the horrors she had faced as they would pity her. For once, she did not feel pity or a lack of interest. It was an odd feeling, but still nice.

Still, there was one thing that perplexed her and it must have shifted the mood a bit.

"Something wrong?" Erik inquired, taking another taste of wine.

Her face fell, "I'm not sure."

He waited for her to continue.

"We've been talking…Well, I feel like _I've_ been talking." She looked towards the window having not heard any wind for a little while, "And it sounds like the storm has passed."

He crooked his eyebrow as his glance slowly made its way from the fire to her eyes. She looked away.

"What are you trying to say?"

Feeling a round ball of emotion coming up, she set her wine glass down, more forcefully than she meant to, but it fortunately didn't break. He waited for her answer and she drew the quilt closer to her. The question finally coming out louder than she intended, "Why do you care about any of this?"

She thought she saw him raise a hand to her, as if to touch her shoulder, but he quickly put it back down to his side, seeming to shake off whatever he was thinking.

"Perhaps the true question is, why does it surprise you that someone would want to listen?"

Tears were beginning to sting her eyes, "You're twisting the question. Politicians are always twisting questions."

"The better man can answer any question."

"Why do you listen? And you're wrong. People don't care to listen. They don't want to listen to someone with a life like mine. It's just…just sad."

A warm drop fell her from her eye and she quickly brushed it away. For the first time in the conversation, he appeared to tense up his body as much as she had. They both stared at the flames for a long time until he spoke quietly, "Your life doesn't have to be so sad."

"I feel like there's no way to fix it." More tears were coming, wrapping her voice in chokes, "Three of my closest…they all died on Christmas. That's a c-curse. And I feel like I've been trying so h-hard. And-and the people I care most about keep-keep dying."

Without warning, Dr. Underwood stood and left the room in haste. The movement so shocked her that she stopped crying to watch him go. As depression began to set in, her thoughts turning black that another person had walked out on her, he returned, a box of tissues in his hand. He took his seat and placed the box next to her.

"Please," he asked quietly.

She took two tissues and blew out the embarrassment dripping from her nose and eyes, quickly tossing them into the flames.

"You realize that's a gas powered fire place." He said dryly.

"Oh god. I didn't think. Oh. I'm so sorry, I really am."

Underwood put up his hand to silence her and she felt like jumping into the flames with the tissues.

"Listen to me, Ms. Gallagher." His entire body was facing her now as he spoke from his knees, "You are not what you are right now. You are not this mess of tears before me." She looked away in embarrassment, "No, look at me." He commanded gently and he waited for her to follow, "I see you for all that you could be even as you do not. I see you for the woman that destiny has positioned you for in music and I want to take you there for you to claim something for yourself."

"But why?" she stammered out, "I'm nothing."

Underwood's eyes flashed to the window for a moment before returning to her. He stood and said, "Come with me."


	16. Chapter 16

**A bit shorter than they usually are, but we're finally reaching some E/C - dare I say - fluff.**

 **To those who follow, favorite, and review, thank you. Thank you thank you. I've hit some writers block with work for a few months. I started writing again this week thanks to your encouragement. I'm so happy people are enjoying this story :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Sixteen**

 _"Come with me."_

Christine followed Dr. Underwood to the door, quilt still tight over her shoulders and at first did not want to go further as she knew it would be cold without her coat. He seemed without patience at her stopping and the next thing she knew, her shoulders were covered in a coat of his own that he had retrieved from a small closet near the door.

Without taking any extra layers for himself, he took her out of the house. The world before her glowed white and shined from the ice that was made a clear sheet over the snow. As he began to lead her down the steps, she slid from loss of sober balance. He steadied her from her elbow and led her down to the street. The fallen tree branch hung, splintered, all over the yard in front of them, but Underwood quickly let them out into the intersection in front of his house. There was a slight wind in the air, but for the most part, the weather was still and quiet. He turned to her and she noticed how well his white mask fit with the world around them. Letting go of her arm, he motioned to the sky.

Once looking up, she gasped, "Stars."

It was a strange thing to see more than the moon and the occasional airplane in a metropolitan area as well lit and wide as Washington D.C. but for once, the sky was alive before her, the edge of the Milky Way being partially visible. Her eyes were wide as she hadn't seen a sight such as that in years. Underwood's eyes scanned the area until he spoke out, "There."

She followed his pointed finger towards a cluster of stairs to the south, immidately noticing three stars.

"That's Orion's Belt," she commented.

"Orion The Hunter, officially." He nodded, "Do you know the mythological story behind the constellation."

She shook her head, she marveling at the stars.

"Orion, being larger than most other beings at the time, took to secluding himself to his own island where he could sleep by day and hunt in peace by night without being stared upon by other jealous eyes of Greece. Artemis, the goddess who was in charge of moving the moon each night, also, who was a daughter of Zeus, found herself in love with the hunter, eventually sneaking down to see him. They hid their love from Zeus as it was forbidden for a mortal and a god to be in love.

"As time went on, Zeus found out and sent a huge scorpion to kill him during the daytime so that he would be dead by evening and it would appear as an accident. Even as Orion fought valiantly, the scorpion managed to poison him, leaving a very sick man for Artemis to find that evening. Before the scorpion could deliver its final blow, Artemis took it by its tail and swung it so hard it landed right over there."

Christine followed his hand to another cluster of stars.

"In his last moments, she professed her undying love and swore to him that she would look upon him every day, no matter how long his life had been gone and as tribute to their love, she placed him right there in mighty form, giving him the gift of some of the brightest stars in the sky."

Her eyes stayed on the constellation for a few moments as her head began to feel heavier on her head. She swayed a little and he caught her arm again to steady her, this time, she noted, he did not let go, staying close enough to her that if she moved to suddenly again, he could very easily embrace her from behind. For a second she even wondered what that would be like.

"You're an Orion, Ms. Gallagher, and even death cannot hide your spirit."

"I'll need an Artemis, then," she mumbled.

"Don't look so hard."

She wanted to look at him, wanted to see what face he was making, whether he was mocking her or not, but he stood behind her still, her back nearly touching his chest, but not quite. A strange warm energy buzzed between them and she wondered if it was all due to the wine or not. She couldn't help but be content.

XVI

Before her eyes opened, she could feel the weight of her head bearing down on her neck. Surprisingly, it wasn't due to a swelling in her head as she expected from having had such a large glass of wine the night before. The smell of fire was still in the air, but now it was mixed with other smells. Fried eggs? The faint sound of small pops on a hot surface could be heard as well.

When she opened her eyes, she found herself leaned up against the side of the fireplace, still sitting up, covered with both the quilt and a long winter coat. His long winter coat. The same coat he had put over her to go outside the night before. She thought she would never be able to face cold weather again, but the night before didn't seem so cold when she was with him. It was quiet and peaceful and… She shook her head. These thoughts were crazy. They were actually crazy.

Christine stretched out her legs. Her feet, she found, were strangely warm and when she moved, the warmth moved away. Looking over, she saw a large, pump, cat yawn and stretch its front legs out in front of it. The cat had interesting features where its neck was a creamy white, and a thick black line down its back that split apart into rows of black spots over otherwise grey fur. When the cat turned its sleepy gaze to Christine, she noticed an ill formed M on its head. Most noticeably were its radiantly blue eyes that stared up at her in annoyance. Before she could reach out to it, it yawned and walked out of the room. Christine almost laughed at her surprise. Erik Underwood owned a cat!

Deciding to hang his coat up on a coat hook at the door, she still held fast to the quilt as she followed her senses to the kitchen. Before her, Underwood was scraping two sunny-side-up eggs out on a plate on the small table. He appeared to be wearing similar brown trousers and a navy high knit sweater from the night before. She noticed that only one plate was set and had two slices of toast already on it with a bowl of yogurt next to it. Hot water with a lemon wedge poking out from the water was within reach as well. Oddly enough, there was only one placement of dining ware. She half way wondered if it were only for him.

Setting the pan down in the sink, Underwood finally addressed her, "I hope you're not allergic to cats. Roach got in again." He motioned to the plate, "this is yours. Eat."

Christine moved to the table and sat, "Roach?"

"He was sleeping next to you last I checked." Underwood moved to sit across from her.

"Did you name the cat, Roach?"

Before taking a sip of his own hot water and lemon, he nodded.

"Why?"

"He's a menace and impossible to get rid of." He took another sip, "And far better at unlocking a door than I've ever been."

Christine smiled a little and said, "Thank you for breakfast."

He shrugged, "It's what I had. I eat the same breakfast every day. I don't have much else around here."

"Still, really, thank you."

He nodded again. As she started to each she realized there was no salt or pepper around, no was there any butter for the toast or sugar in the yogurt. Everything was bland. But it was food and she was hungry so she didn't say anything to contradict what she wanted. Across from her, Underwood was reading from a tablet. She was a little thankful to be able to eat in peace. Looking to the corner she found Roach staring at her with big curious blue orbs.

"He's waiting for you to look away so he can take your food." Underwood muttered.

"Do you have food for him?"

He looked from the tablet to her for a moment and she caught his eyes. When she looked back down at her plate, half an egg was missing. Her gaze turned back to the cat who had somehow managed to move across the room and back without noise at all.

"He eats just fine," Underwood said casually as he returned to the tablet.

Christine wanted to comment that maybe Roach wouldn't steal human food if he had his own, but chose better of it.

"I'm currently reading The Washington Post. Do you have access to it?" It sounded to her that he wasn't willing to give up his tablet, but wanted her to be up to date regardless.

"I do on my phone, but to be honest, I wanted to save my battery in case the power doesn't come on for a while."

"The kitchen and Study are connected to the generator if you have a charger." He said casually.

Christine's mouth fell open, "Wait. You had a generator and haven't been using it?"

"It wasn't necessary before I needed the paper this morning." She saw him raise an eye brow, "Besides, electricity or not, you were not keen on moving far from the fire last night. I offered to move the couch closer, but you had already fallen asleep."

She decided to not admit that she didn't remember that part of the evening. Her last thoughts were with the sky and how beautiful it looked and how close she could feel with someone without hardly any touch-

She shook her head. _What was I feeling last night? What was wrong with me?_ To avoid him reading her mind, she stood up from the table to retrieve her phone. Having turned it off the night before to save it, she took more time to gather her thoughts. Had she really just spent a night with Erik Underwood? Sure, it wasn't a _night_ night, but still. And for her to wake up under his quilt and his coat… Strangely enough, she recalled feeling so warm and comfortable the night before. They had talked for so long and the conversation was mostly pleasant until she had a drunken meltdown on her own accord.

How embarrassing. And there he was making breakfast for her. Why was he being so nice? She closed her eyes for a second, trying to think if there was any real reason for him to be so nice. She was sure that the evening was going to be just as much hell as it had started to be, but it wasn't. Recalling his words, she remembered how encouraging he was, not in a false sense, but in a way that made her feel foolish for having ever thought otherwise.

This left her in a lurch. She didn't know how to behave, how to act around him. Should she be nicer? Aloof? Grateful? Her thoughts changed once she finally pulled up the Washington Post. Besides the front page news on the weather knocking out power for most of Washington, there was a sliver of a side article on Raoul Peters.

She thought she felt her heart twist, or maybe her throat twist in response. Reading the first part of the article, then flipping a few pages over, she gathered the information that the family did not think it as an intentional suicide despite counter party speculation. There was a small picture of Raoul's mother and step-father, two sisters, and step-brother Phillip. All of the women, regardless of their high fashion, looked sickly skinny with gobs of black mascara and eyeliner running down their faces. Phillip looked as stale as always, offering no comfort or feeling in his manners.

Christine scoffed. How typical. His family, the family he all but hated in attempt to earn enough money for their approval, was soaking up the situation. She all but threw her phone on the floor in protest of the entire stupid situation. Instead, she kept reading until the end to find that they had set the date for the public wake on January first in Washington and the funeral would be privately held in Pittsburg on the following day. Another pit of anger rose in her as she wondered that if he were not such a public figure if she would ever get a chance to see when the funeral was at all.

Of course she wouldn't have been invited to the funeral. She was nothing to the Peters' family. They didn't even know about her and Raoul made no effort to have them know about her. She found herself angry at all parties now. Once again, no one cared about her… Except Meg, and maybe Underwood in a strange way. There were people looking out, that was nice. It even helped that when she went to check her email to send the article out to the staff that all put a few of them had already reached out to her seeking to comfort one another. One even asked for a recommendation. A chill filled her stomach. While she could write recommendations for others, she had no one to recommend her herself. That was a hard truth.

She decided to answer a few more emails by the fire. It was nice to have some time to herself even if it was to do such a terrible informative business. Roach joined her there to sleep near her feet again. That was a comfort, if nothing else. He invited her pets, purring low as if him purring was a secret for her only. This cat was a surviver, that was for sure.

Underwood's footsteps were heard soon after. She watched as he set his tablet down into a drawer on the desk.

"Nothing new in the news today." He said suddenly, "A pity. I hate it when Congress is out of session. Some of them are looking to see what little work they can do and leave. I live for the torments of those idiots."

 _Maybe that's why they want to leave_ , she mused.

"Some people might consider what happened to Raoul as news," she remarked.

"Nothing new," he repeated.

"Still, I've had enough emails to let the staff know of the wake."

"It's your choice to answer them now. Whether he was alive or not, that's not your job anymore, is it?"

She didn't like the malice in his tone, but instead of pushing it, she turned back to her phone. He didn't like that.

"We will start you next lesson now." He nearly spat, "You'll have a break for lunch. There will be another lesson in the afternoon."

An early lesson didn't seem like such a bad thing. That meant she could go home earlier before the sun went down and freeze everything over again. She stood up, much to Roach's protest.

"Have you been working on your breathing as we discussed?" His tone seemed so much colder than the night before.

"Well…" It was only three days ago and so much had happened. Was he really expecting her to-

"Ms. Gallagher it is now your responsibility to do such exercises on your own time. I will not hold your hand."

The words were hurtful after the previous evening, but she nodded nonetheless.

"Remember this is your income, Ms. Gallagher. I keep you from unemployment. We'll start as we did before. Straighten up and inhale for three beats on my mark of three. One, two, three."

XVI

When the sun started to rise that morning, he knew he had been staring at her sleeping for far too long. He recounted standing outside with her, how close she was to him and how willing he was to keep her there, their bodies so close to an embrace that it hurt him as much as it soothed him. It was a strange and absurd feeling to be impressed by the concept that instead of staring out into the world on ones own, another could stand there with him. How funny she looked, covered in so many layers, her blonde hair contrasting only slightly with the white snow around them.

After having been out there for much longer than he knew, her head waved and bobbed a bit from staring up so long. As her balance followed, he took hold of her forearms, wanting to stable her on her own, but instead, she leaned just an inch back, her head falling gently to the crook of his shoulder. His impulse was to step back, to free himself from encouraging an entanglement, but when he looked down, he saw a faint smile crossing her lips. She looked so happy and relaxed as he stood there so tight and confused.

Feeling her falling again, he took hold of her arms, going even further as to encompass her back to hold her against him. Once again, he wanted to run. This couldn't be right. This was not the agreement. This was supposed to be purely over music, not talking, not drinking wine, not gazing at stars, and definitely not _this_. Strange as it was, he found trouble in pulling away. If anyone else had done this, he would have let him fall in the snow and locked them out. Why did she make him react so differently?

He held her there, much longer than he should have, he knew that. Still, there was something so oddly nice about holding someone like that. It was so very different from anything in his life, and he liked it too much. His brain yelled obscenities at him and he agreed with every one, but he couldn't bring himself to move.

She needed him. She needed him to help her in so many ways. No one else needed him, not really. As a political figure, possibly, but otherwise, he was replaceable. He was not replaceable to her. He was the last thing left to her that could help really her help herself. And she needed him. This was never any more true as she lay up against his body for support.

His arms slowly wrapped around her further, incasing her and all her outer wear as close to him as possible, going so far as to lean his chin over her uncovered head. There was something so complete there and he felt something that he never thought to be missing, fill with a kind of warmth he didn't know was possible. He didn't want the feeling to end.

As she shifted beneath him, he reluctantly pushed her back. He couldn't have her remember this. There was too much at stake and such things must be held to himself only. Once waking her, he assisted her back to the Study and just as he was going to pull the couch over from the window, he found her asleep again. He sat across from her then and when the word finally slipped from his lips, it scared him enough to leave.

"Beautiful."

* * *

 **I hope you like Roach! Check out capitolintent DOT tumblr to see where I got my inspiration from :)**


	17. Chapter 17

**First I ironically had the Christmas chapter uploaded the week of Christmas, and NOW I place Washington DC under a crippling snow storm the same week that a record breaking blizzard buries most of the east coast of the USA! I hope this doesn't keep happening because there is a turn later on in the story that I do not want to happen!**

 **Thanks again to the reviews, favorites, and follows. I'm trying to keep writing so there won't be a huge hole of updates between Part 1 and 2. We've got roughly 8 chapters left before the end of Part 1. Your support and encouragement means so much to me!**

* * *

 **Chapter Seventeen**

Throughout her lesson that morning, Erik found it far easier to channel his feelings through anger and requiring perfection from her. When she gave him confused, some times hurt looks, he ignored them, plowing further into various breathing techniques and posture requirements. While her mind appeared to be in multiple angles of the world, there was something in her that seemed different. She was trying, she was really trying. Not out of regiment, but she seemed to want to get things right for her own. That was satisfying. He had not realized it was afternoon until much later because of it.

He left her alone for lunch, finding tasks that needed attending to in the Study. There wasn't much for her to eat, just some sliced cheese and bread, but she took him up on the offer quickly. The time he gave her for lunch suddenly seemed too long and he returned to the kitchen quicker than he said he would to call her back in.

They started to continue into her branching a few notes in her range, working with the elongated breaths from earlier. She was catching on quickly, her fears of her instrument getting fewer. As he challenged her, she seemed to challenge him right back. Their lesson become more like a sport of range and air until she finally collapsed on the couch from exhaustion. He nodded. While he wasn't ready to end until perfection was reached, he knew that she would never get there if her instrument lost its will.

By that time, the sun had already set behind the houses and no one had come to restore the power or plow the road. This evening could be worse from the last on account of ice that was once melted by the sun, refreezing once it was gone. When he looked back at her again, her head was heavy on the arm of the couch. He watched her slowly give way to sleep. She would not be returning home this night either. The conditions would be too treacherous to walk out once she woke.

A uncontainable smile tugged at his cheeks.

Finding some penne in one of his cabinets, he began to prepare her something for dinner. It wasn't much, he knew, but it was something. He put some olive oil over it when it was finished and set out a plate with a glass of water. A scowl crossed him. In some ways, he knew that the bachelor lifestyle did suite him well.

She was still asleep when he returned, this time Roach had managed to curl up in her lap. He rolled his eyes. The name suited the cat too well.

"Ms. Gallagher," he spoke from the door.

A blue eye peeked out from the blonde sea that now covered her face.

"I prepared dinner."

She sprung up and looked out of the window. The sun had gone down an hour or so prior.

"Oh no." She looked back at him, "I need to go home."

"I'm not keeping you," He said casually, despite how the words felt to say, "Keep in mind the ice."

Her eyes were tired and livid. "Why didn't you wake me?"

Erik's arms crossed stubbornly, "I'm not your keeper."

"I never…" She looked at me strangely, "I can't stay here."

"Enjoy your freezing basement."

She stood throwing off the quilt and the cat. He noted the shiver that crossed her. "I will enjoy it. Because it's my house."

His hands raised and he shrugged, "Good."

"Yes. Good!"

She looked around for a moment, "Are my coat and things dried from yesterday?"

"I doubt it."

"Could you not have used the generator for that, at least?"

"I didn't see it as necessary. I'm going to have dinner. Goodnight, Ms. Gallagher."

Erik turned to the kitchen and sat at his place. The front door opened for a moment, then shut again. She sighed loudly from the hall before finally making her way to the table. Once seated, she put her head in her hands.

"If you're going to leave, it would be better to do that sooner than later," He recounted with a smirk.

"You know I'm not going to leave, Dr. Underwood," she mumbled.

"That's your choice, isn't it?"

She looked up at him, her eyes thin with anger, "Not really."

He shrugged again and continued eating. She, eventually, followed and ate the penne he set out for her. He noted the redness in her face from anger and how it slowly melted away once they began to converse. Erik, once again, tried to mask his smile.

After dinner, one that he found rather amusing, they returned to the Study. She took the quilt back from Roach and placed it over her shoulders. A part of Erik wished she would come closer to himself rather than the fire. Shoving that thought forcefully from his head, he spoke casually, "You are free to read if you like."

She nodded and went off to pick a book. He sat with his long legs crossed and made myself comfortable on his side of the fireplace with a massive copy of one of the proposed budgets for the upcoming year. Perhaps having her around would make this task less tedious? Once she had sat down she noticed his reading material.

"That's Bill's budget proposal, isn't it?" she asked.

"You can hardly call it a proposal to be taken seriously." He muttered.

"I agree," she leaned back on the wall opposite of him on the fire place, "Was there ever a time when he wrote less and planned more?"

"You read this?" His visible eye brow rose.

"I'm a faster reader than Raoul. He paid me to give him notes."

"Typical." Erik's eyes fell on the material as he tried to make the conversation casual, "What did you think?"

"GOP nonsense." He noted that she looked away after saying this, as if embarrassed somehow. "Just out to make the rich richer and the poor poorer," she muttered.

"I agree with you."

"Then why do you keep reading it?"

"So I can remind him that he had someone actually write this garbage for him to propose. Making him look like a fool on C-SPAN is one of my favorite past times." He took a breath before asking a question he found himself a little too excited to ask, "Did you happen to see it?"

"Of course. Watching C-SPAN for Raoul was another one of my paid duties. He asked me to follow up on reports every now and then. I thought your opposition to Bill's last budget plan was kind of funny," she said making him look back to her, "I learned a few more synonyms for the word 'lunacy.'"

"That's a kind way to say it, Ms. Gallagher. However, the GOP blamed me as one of the front runners for the shut down because I wouldn't let them have an easy fight."

She laughed lightly, "God forbid they ever take any blame for that catastrophe themselves."

Erik looked at her seriously, "Was there a plan you preferred at all from any of the proposals?"

"As a part of the ninety-nine percent? Not one. As a member of Raoul Peter's office, Ben's plan seemed okay."

Part of his mouth twitched up to a smile, "I agree."

Christine Gallagher was smart. She played herself as otherwise, but Erik was finding more and more brilliance in her. They spoke more later that evening on the same subjects. While she was hesitant to give her ideas on politics to him, she opened up a little later with some thoughts that were actually very resourceful. She was good at being able to see multiple sides of various issues and her ideas incorporated various spectrums of resolution. He even found himself learning from her a little as she had been closer to the lower class than he had been in a decade. By the end of the evening, he was beginning to wonder if he needed her too.

XVII

It had gotten so late into the night that it could hardly be called the same day any more. The fire burned low as if it too were ready to find sleep. Christine's lids hung low over her eyes, her back against the side of the fireplace that she kept. Opposite of her, Underwood sat in a similar position, his eyes lightly fixed on hers. The conversation had gotten slower and slower until finally the pauses threatened to last until morning.

"Tell me what you're thinking, Ms. Gallagher." He whispered the next time her heavy eyes fluttered open.

She smiled a little, "I'm wondering why we get along better at night."

He laughed a little, not able to hide his smirk, "Why do you say that?"

Choosing not to face his eyes, she spoke to the fire, "I didn't like you today. You were…like you usually are with everyone else."

"And how am I perceived by everyone else?"

She smiled weakly, "Like you don't know?"

"I'm curious to your analyzation."

She looked forward, away from the fire and tucked her hair behind her ear, "You're cold and business minded. I always noticed how no one approached up in the halls, everyone seemed to fear you. You were known for your private meetings. You're known for cutting out the lobbyists and going straight to the source, and never denying it. Still, I have issues imagining that you were any nicer in a private setting than you ever were at work."

"Is that to say that you think I'm _nicer_ at night?"

Her answer came quickly, "I don't know, but I like you more like this. You don't remind me of everyone else on the Hill. They're all two-faced and cruel." She looked up to him and bit her lip for her idiocy, "Wow, that was so stupid to say."

Surprisingly, he didn't retaliate and answered casually, "Give me some credit. I'm hardly as incompetent as the majority. Two faced or not."

She signed and relaxed a little then shook her head, "That's not what I mean." A hand lightly went over her chest, "It's like, it's like you have a heart."

"Perhaps I'm a quality thespian," He scoffed, "Pre sixteenth century mask work, I believe."

To this she smiled and whispered, "Then I'm not the only one hiding flaws."

At first, he looked almost hurt by what she had said, but when his eyes contacted hers, he softened. She was not speaking of his mask, she never would. It was not for her to judge when someone as complex as Erik Underwood sat at equal level with her only a few feet away.

"You strike me, Ms. Gallagher."

She wasn't sure how to take such a comment, but answered him without much thought, "Then I guess that makes our bargain a bit more equal."

The two of them sat opposite of each other for a long time. Christine's eyes open and shut, her head bobbled a little from resting its weight against the thick wood framing behind her. Oddly enough, whenever she happened to open her eyes even for a second, there he was before her, his eyes stuck to her as if she were the only thing of interest or value in the room. Part of her wanted to look farther into his eyes, but sleep was quickly taking her away.

His next whispered words truly surprised her well enough out of sleep, "Must you leave tomorrow?"

A heat was creeping up her neck and into her cheeks. She answer quickly, hoping he wouldn't see it, half of her wishing she hadn't opened her eyes at all so she could pretend she had been asleep. Giving herself a moment to think, she decided to comment as unconcerned as she could, "You'll have to stop me from running. Remember that daytime you and me don't see eye to eye."

"Then another night."

This time, she opened her eyes more fully and looked back at him. The look in his slightly mix mated eyes was serious and made the heat on her face grow. This couldn't really be happening. He couldn't really be asking her to stay with him longer than what was agreed upon. It was too strange. She laughed nervously, to break the tension.

"Really, Dr. Underwood-"

"Why is it that we call each other by formal titles?" he pressed on, this time looking away from her and seeming to not wait for her to come up with an answer.

"Um, well, it seemed like the thing to do. The professional choice for someone in my position and someone in yours."

"Professionalism, indeed. But you mean in Congress."

"Well, yeah."

He shrugged, "We're not in Congress now."

"No… I guess we're not."

He looked back at her, a new hopeful light in his eyes. "Christine," her name slid out of his mouth so smoothly that the heat in her face managed to pick up again. "That wasn't too inappropriate was it?"

She laughed in embarrassment, "No."

"Good. And my name?"

Laughter found her again, "You want me to say your first name?"

"I expect you know it."

"Of course I know…" She caught his eyes again without meaning to. There was a strange feeling there, one she truly wasn't sure about. Nonetheless, she spoke quietly, "Erik."

XVII

She woke the same way she had the day before. There was a plain breakfast and quiet company who had somehow expected her to have already read the Washington Post before eating. So, they sat in silence, both of them catching up on various stories. He made no mention of the night before, not even acting as if any pleasant conversations had happened at all. By ten, she decided that if she did not push for a music lesson, that he might as well keep her for the rest of the week. No, she needed time to think, needed time away from him to think. What was worse was that he seemed even meaner that lesson than all others, barking at her for small mistakes and never showing any remorse when she choked down the knot in her throat.

Ironically enough, he seemed to expect her to stay for lunch! Angrily, she shook her head and headed out in the extra layers she had packed from before, telling him that she would come back for her other layers the next day. How very ripe he was as she was putting on her boots!

"There will not be heat at your house." He pointed out.

"The Post said they would start working on it today."

"Don't put faith into this place to function properly." He spat.

"I don't, but I have more clothes at home."

"There will be no exception for your being late tomorrow. None."

"Then I won't be late."

"You had better not be sick from cold either."

"Then I won't get sick."

"I doubt you can control that, Ms. Gallagher."

She turned to look at him completely. Had the entire night gone out of his head? For him to be so cruel that day and finally refer to her by her "formal" name as he put it. She shook her head and headed towards the door, "I'll be fine," she muttered.

"Christine," What sounded like sadness in his voice kept her from turning the knob, "I would not like for you to fall ill." She couldn't help but turn back to him and he continued slowly, "You were correct last night. I am not a kind person during the day. It is who I have had to adapt to be."

He sounded so…sincere. Once again, she was able to relate, just not to how far he was being. She was not forgiving him by any means, but she understood him.

"If it's too cold, I'll come back."

"Yes," he whispered.

She nodded and was off.

By the time she reached her house, she was already ready for a nap. Having to crunch through both ice and a thick layer of snow took a lot more effort than she thought it would. Luckily, it was considerably warmer that day than it had been and she hoped that the power would be back sooner than later. While she wasn't looking forward to entering her cold basement, she was ready to gather her thoughts free of distraction. That apparently was not what fate had in mind. Just as she was fiddling for her keys with bare hands, there was a tiny squeal from what sounded like it came from the window.

Even as it had scared her at first, she went to investigate the pot on the window seal that was filled with a fern that Meg had given her a while back. The fern refused to die no matter what the weather was. She liked it. Once close enough to it, she saw a hint of orange under all of the green. The squeal happened again so she pulled up part of the fern to find a ragged looking kitten.

It looked very small and she was afraid what it was doing out there all alone. Looking around the plant, she could only see the tiny foot prints of a kitten, none of a larger mother cat. The kitten looked up to her with gold eyes and squealed again. Not knowing what else to do, she picked it up and held it to her. For all its fur it was very cold and shivered against her.

Once inside, she immidately called Meg only to get her voicemail.

"Hey Meg," Christine started, "I take it your phone is dead. Well, when you get it charged again call me. I found a cat outside and it's really cold and I don't know anything about cats. Tell me what I should do! Okay, thanks, bye."

Well, that was pointless. The cat was small enough to fit in her hand and stayed curled up there. She made a quick loop around her apartment. What was she to do? Sighing, she watched as cloud left her mouth. How was anyone making it with it being so cold everywhere? Not knowing what else to do, she pulled the cat under her outer sweater and kept it there. She felt like a kangaroo with the bump over her stomach.

Forgetting about the nap, she started to make more laps around the apartment looking for mittens for her fringed exposed hands. She eventually settled for socks and put the cat in a sock for good measure. To this, the cat mewed and went to sleep. Taking the comforter off the bed, she wrapped it around them both and sat on the couch.

"How is this not warmer than that quilt?" She asked into the air. "Because the quilt was near the fire. Ah!"

The cat continued to shiver on her stomach and she looked down to it through the top of her stomach. It looked back up at her with wide eyes and mewed again.

"What? Should I go back? Is that really what you're telling me?"

This time the kitten squealed again.

"This is pointless."

She took out her phone and with a heavy sigh, texted Erik.

 _What do I do with a small cat?_

Fortunately, she didn't have to wait long for a response.

 _Why do you have a small cat?_

 _It was in my fern and now it's shivering. What do I do with it?_

 _Roach could eat it for you._

 _Can you warm it milk or something?_

 _I'll FedEx you the milk once it's done._

She sighed at this stupid situation.

 _Look, if I come back, it will be for this cat, okay?_

 _If that's how you justify another trip. Be quick. The sun will be going down soon._

 _Okay._

Changing her clothes and freshening up with some dreadfully cold water, she dressed in three layers of sweaters, pants, and socks this time, including some socks over her hands and an extra sock over the cat. She packed another set of clothes in her backpack this time, also packing her laptop to make answering emails easier the next morning. Once locking her front door, the sun was already behind the houses. She would have to be quick and careful before things started to freeze over again.

It was dark by the time she had reached the house. The kitten mewed at her every time there was wind until it was all put screaming at her. She stopped on the sidewalk, hardly a block from Underwood's house.

"Listen up, cat!" It stopped its protesting and looked up at her as she peer down her sweater, "I'm doing something nice for you. I've been walking over an hour in this snow without my pea coat and with you stuffed up on the warmest part of my body. I'm ignoring my will for you so you can just cool it!"

A few steps later, she couldn't help but laugh at the terrible pun she had just made with it being so cold outside. Once reaching the fence of the house she spoke to the air, "I can't believe I'm already back. This is your fault, you cat!"

Christine made her way up the pathway and steps carefully. Erik stood in the doorway, practically blocking her. She all but growled, "May I come in?"

"As requested," he said quietly moving out of her way.

Once inside, she pulled the orange ball of fur out from her sweater. He laughed at her, but she wasn't going to acknowledge it and instead held the animal up to his masked face.

"What do I do with this?" she demanded, forcing the cat into his larger hands.

He shrugged, "Give it to Roach."

She removed her boots with difficulty over the three pairs of socks, "I'm not letting Roach eat it."

"Roach is hungry."

Placing the boots to the side of the door, she stood up again.

"Food. Yeah, I bet it's hungry. Do you have food for it somewhere? Milk, maybe?"

"I don't waste my food on cats."

"But you let Roach take food from me? Fine." She took the cat back from him and made her way to the kitchen, " _I'm_ going to have a cup of milk. And it's going to be warmed up because _I'm_ cold. And if this cat takes it then I guess its the rules of this house!"

* * *

 **I hope you like Roach and "Small Cat." They are based off of my favorite FF writing companions :)**


	18. Chapter 18

**A short chapter...sorry bout that. It's been a really busy stressful week and I wasn't able to expand as I really wanted to on this chapter. That said, now that we've been having a lot of character development, the remaining chapters for Part I will all be plot development. Hang on tight!**

 **Thanks so much for your reviews, favorites, and follows. They mean so much to me :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Eighteen**

The rest of the evening, Christine found herself poking and prodding the kitten. After winning the battle to give it warm milk, it didn't seem interested so she took it to the fire. From there, all it wanted to do was explore so she watched as it made its way over books, the couch, and close to the desk before he turned around with lack of interest. Without asking Underwood's permission, she brought the bowl of milk to the Study and set it by the fire. The cat drank a little then curled up with her as she sat near the fire. Erik joined her after a little time, offering her a cheese sandwich that she devoured without much thought. He then dropped a small hand full of what looked like cat food into the milk. The cat hopped off of Christine clumsily and started to eat.

"I thought you didn't feed Roach?" she asked, assuming it was his food to begin with.

"There is a reason he doesn't steal from me. I see to it. His box, sleeping quarters, and food are all in hidden places. They're marked with cat scents that humans cannot decipher. This kitten should find it sooner or later."

She couldn't help, but smile, "So you do care for Roach?"

"He has earned my respect." They shared eyes for a moment and Christine wondered if he was only talking about the cat. She turned away and he continued, "Are you going to keep him?"

"It's a him?" she asked.

Erik gave her a look and she found herself embarrassed. Of course it was a "him" that was clear with some simple inspection.

"I…I don't know what I'd do with a cat."

"I don't either."

She laughed, "Clearly you do! What about Roach?"

"I did some research. Roach doesn't require more than what's necessary."

Christine shook her head.

"Offer him to Roach. Maybe you won't have to worry about him."

As if on cue, Roach carelessly made his way into the Study. Christine tensed, not sure how he would react to another cat in the house. He strolled straight up to the milk and started to eat the food that had been placed in it. The other cat stared at him while he did this, but eventually got close and started to sniff the much larger cat. They then stiffed each other, Roach sitting down to do so. As their noses touched, Roach stuck out his tongue and licked the kitten full on the face. From there, the two laid down, the kitten kneading Roach and Roach giving him a cat bath.

"Wow." Christine said with wide eyes, "Are all cats that nice to each other?"

"No. It is possible that Roach is tasting him first."

"I don't think that's what's happening." Christine flatly replied.

"We'll see."

All four of them stayed by the fire that night. Erik finally held true to his words of pulling the couch closer so that Christine would have a place to sleep. He stayed in the large armchair after pulling it off center to fit the couch closer to the warmth. The night was simple enough and the cats offered some entertainment when Christine found an old shoe lace from her backpack for them to play with. The little orange cat had some interesting markings of lighter fur that stretch on his side, the appeared as curved lines that stretched from his belly, over his back, and to the other side in no organized way. While Christine's opinions of him were mixed, Roach seemed to like him well enough.

Erik had not said so much to her that evening as he kept reading various proposed bills. It was a comfortable coexistence and it was nice to be able to read a book for herself. One on cats, as he had recommended. She found it funny that he would have a detailed book on how to raise cats in his house. As it started to get late, he set the piles of papers aside and started to pull out his violin.

She did not protest him pulling out the instrument as she had the last time. Instead, she watched him with curious eyes. The way he gently set the case on his desk, the way he pulled out the bow and violin. It was as if he were touching a loved possession and to see someone treat an object with such care was interest enough.

After spending time to tune it - she guessed he had perfect pitch as she did not see a tuner - pianissimo notes began to flow in the air. The music seemed harmless enough and she allowed herself to sit back and listen, her corner on the couch feeling safe enough. The sounds ebbed and flowed to her ears as if it were waves themselves. It was simple, genuine, _loving_.

When the word popped into her head her eyes shot open as if something had stabbed her. The music stopped.

"Something the matter?" he asked quietly.

She immediately felt like an idiot.

"No, nothing, sorry."

He continued with a different song this time and the feeling went away. It made her speculate his meaning and she wondered continuously into her dreams.

XVIII

In total, Christine counted spending five days with Erik Underwood before the power returned. She was thankful for it having returned a day before Raoul's scheduled wake so that she could have a day to collect herself and shower in her own home. Erik agreed to keep the cat more or less. He said that if Roach wanted a pet, he could keep it. The two really had hit it off and Christine began to wonder where such mothering instincts came from in a big male outdoor cat.

She decided to name the cat Simba after one of her favorite childhood characters. The marking he had on his head reminder her of a lion cub. So there was now Simba, Roach, the remote Christine Gallagher and the dangerously powerful Erik Underwood all residing under the same roof. What a peculiar five days it had been.

As usual, Erik was nothing less than monstrous during the day and she learned to keep her distance from him. He never insulter her truly, he was just rude and lacking in patience. This was one of things she learned to deal with after a while. Still, he would always prepare meals for her and she saw this as a way for him to express that she wasn't an actual burden on his home life. He did strange things during the day to show this, either by leaving a book in her path on the couch, or once he managed to make a funny looking cat toy with her shoe lace and a button.

Still, nights were the most comfortable between the two. They had various conversations on different topics in the world, the news, Congress, her youth, his travels. The lessons continued and she began to notice her voice improving. A few times, he even complimented her on its growth. Their last night by the fire, the power turned on around nine in the evening. She had sat up to look at the street lights outside.

"The stars are gone," she murmured by the window.

"Perhaps you owe it to yourself to go to a place that doesn't hide them." He said, she could hear him stepping carefully closer.

"That would be nice," she smiled, simply.

"Will you be leaving, then?" he asked, a faint feeling of sadness in his tone.

"My heater probably won't be working well yet."

"Then you will stay?" it was a question, not a demand.

"I'd like to."

His smile did not register on his face, but she could swear she saw it in his eyes.

It was early morning when she found herself needing to use the restroom. The sun was not even up yet and she found both cats laying directly on top of her lower stomach making the situation much worse. She slid them off with the quilt and tip toed her way to the bathroom below the stairs. The thought crossed her mind of where Erik could be. She wondered if he had been sleeping in his own bed and he noted several times that the fire was for her.

Her vision was not clear as she had left her glasses in her bag and had given up on her contacts a few days prior, having forgotten her solution at her house. Making her way to the bathroom, she opened it with a yawn only to find Erik directly inside over the sink. It took her a second to register what had happened and she looked up before she closed the door.

Their eyes caught, but not before she had seen his full face in a mirror that was now hanging over the sink and at the reflection, she all but fell backwards. She could see how yellow and tough the leathery skin was, how it was thin it was over his skull and she saw bone and muscle coming out of where it had gotten too sparse. It was as if his skin was decidedly trying to retreat from his face. The surprise shocked an intake of fearful air from her. She had no time to register her situation before pure instinct kicked in and she turned away to make her way back to the Study, shocked tears pricking her eyes.

She didn't make it far before her wrist was wrenched backwards by an unyielding hand.

"Ready to tell the world I'm not a liar?"

He stood before her like a rabid monster, his jaw cocked open, his eyes shining with rage, and his face without the mask that showed clear imprints of his teeth on the torn side. She tried to turn away, "I'm-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"Wanting to take a picture for _everyone_ to see?" he sneered, pulling her closer to him so that their faces were mere inches apart and she was on her toes.

" _What_?"

"Wanting to prove to them that I'm just as much a monster on the outside as I am on the inside?" He was talking through his teeth and his grip on her raised wrist tightened with every word.

"Please," she kept shaking her head back and forth, "I didn't mean to. It was an accident!"

He walked her straight into a corner in the wall and slammed her up against it. Her eyes darted from side to side, trying to find a way out and finding none. He continued, "That's what _anyone_ would say caught in this position, you cowardly _child_."

His words stung a little, but she continued to defend herself, "No, really!" She started to struggle, trying to pull back her arm and he held faster, pushing it over her head and into the cool wall behind her, his face mere inches from hers. She screamed, "You're hurting me!"

"Trying to get so close to me, are you? Trying to get my guard down enough to unmask me?"

Her voice was heightening her pitch, "I didn't! Erik please!"

"You were waiting to catch me off guard! You were waiting to sink so low and do this!"

"I was not!"

"You viper! You little Delilah! You liar!"

"STOP IT!" With her words she lay a smack across the unmarked side of his face. He let go and took a step back as if truly hurt. He fell to his knees, his back heaving up and down with every harsh breath. The sound of their ragged breathing filled the room as she held her hand to her chest. She had never done any sort of violent thing in her life. It never even occurred to her to have followed through with the impulse until they both quiet. When he looked up again, angry tears that refused to fall were in his eyes and he covered his face with his hand as he fell to his knees.

"I didn't want you to see this. I didn't want you to know." He moaned brokenly.

"I swear I didn't mean to." Her words were getting caught in her throat, "I had to use the bathroom, I swear."

"You hate me." He said through his teeth.

"Erik, I don't-"

"You LIAR!" His bellowing voice made items shake in the kitchen and study.

She pushed the sounds from her head and pressed towards her point, "I'm not-"

"Everyone who has ever seen." He cut her voice so smoothly, that she didn't dare continue, "The world will hate me. Has hated me. So I must hate them. The daylight makes me into a monster, the darkness being my only solace as vision is taken. But you… Was I not enough for you? Were our conversations not enough? I listened, as you said. I asked, I wanted… I cannot…I thought you would not, _hoped_ you would not…but now you hate me."

His words were hardly making any sense and she wondered if she need to run away right then. Tears were streaming down her face, "You're putting words in my mouth."

He spoke low and mean, "You evil curious woman."

"Stop being so cruel! It was an accident!"

"You're smarter than accidents, Erik knows you are."

Him referring to himself in third person scared her, "What? Everyone makes-"

"Lies, lies, lies." His last 's' sounded longer than it should have.

She tried playing on his level, as insane as it was starting to be, "Then…then forgive me."

He chanted his words as if it had been chanted to him for too long, "Forgiveness does not forget. You will never forget."

His words were true and it hurt her deeply.

"She does not speak because it is true." He said quietly, "No one ever forgets. No one ever forgets."

Christine tried to appeal to his humanity again, insane words aside, "Erik, please, don't be like this."

"Don't you dare tell me how to be! Don't you dare tell me how to be even remotely normal when you have never suffered in looking anything less than beautiful."

"How can you…Erik, how…" she whispered.

"Christine, who has always been _beautiful_ who will always be pleasing to anyone's eye and who feels cheated by the world for losing things that Erik never had. How _selfish_ you are."

The tears could not be stopped now and her knees buckled against the wall, "Erik… How could you… Why would you say…?" She wanted to bury her face in her hands and crawl into a hole, but not before she repaid his words, "You are a monster to say such things. And you being so terrible has _nothing_ to do with your face."

Finding strength somewhere, she gathered herself and went to pack her things quickly, throwing all of her things in the bag between sobs, not caring to completely bundle up before going outside. As a last thought, she scooped up Simba and put him in her sweater. He mewed in annoyance at being taken away from the large warm cat he slept next to.

Erik now stood with his mask replaced, just outside the bathroom down the hall. She could not read him as the light was behind him.

"Stay home for your lesson tonight." He said softly, "You are to listen to _Faust_ and report back to me on Sunday after the wake."

"Fine," she muttered, wiping her remaining tears with her sleeve.

"And you _will_ come back." It was not a question this time. It was a threat.

She looked back at him, fear and confusion laced in her eyes, "You would force me?"

"Our agreement is not an option, Ms. Gallagher. You will come back whether on your accord or not."

Her voice quivered, "You're threatening me?"

She saw him straighten his back, to block out more light, "Yes."

From there, she all but ran the entire way home, slamming and locking the door directly behind her.

* * *

 **Anyone looking for insane power crazy Erik? Because I think he just popped up in this chapter. And he's only going to get crazier from here. Thoughts? :D**


	19. Chapter 19

**Thanks again to all of those reading, favoriting, following, and reviewing :) I'm behind on the tumblr because I've been working really long days. This chapter will be a good chapter for tumblr as it reveals some new neighborhoods in DC...We just expanded our business, so, it's pretty exciting (and suuuuper busy)! And today is my quarter-life birthday! Yay! I'm really glad I finished Part One before I started posting - A big thanks to you who have been with me for 19 weeks of updates!**

 **And now...some plot development *rubs hands together maliciously***

* * *

 **Chapter Nineteen**

Sunday came very quickly after her exhausting Saturday. Simba was not interested in her apartment and managed to get into all kinds of trouble that he had no business being in. She made her way out to a nearby 7-11 for cat liter and food, but he didn't like that either and her milk had gone bad. The cat sat at the door, scratching at it like he wanted to go out and she nearly let him.

"You want me to go back, but I won't." She shivered, "I don't feel safe there anymore."

In addition, Simba wouldn't let her sleep in peace. He mewed and squealed all around her bed until she finally kicked him out. From here, he started yapping and scratching the door. She was ready to drop him off in Underwood's mail slot and was pretty sure he would fit. Roach seemed to like him far more than she was that day.

She was able to tune him out while listening to a recording of Faust made in the seventies that she found on YouTube. Of course she didn't understand what was going on and had to look up an synopsis. Once she had, she could have screamed.

"Oh is _that_ how he feels? Is that how he's going to communicate this situation to me? Ugh!" She sat back on her couch as Simba had somehow managed to sleep through all of this. "How easy it would be to go to Heaven like Margherita…" she sighed and mumbled, "but I'm better than her."

Erik was making her feel as if she were so _lucky_ to have the life she did. As far as she was concerned, he was in a much better position than her! He was rich, and in power, and in control of his life and he was making her out as a villain only because half of her face _wasn't_ missing?!

Sure…it must have been awful to have the life that he had. Foster homes, cruel honest children, and the world ready to snub him due to looks. Still, that was not her fault! She had not treated him in such a way and the only reason she backed away as she did was that she wasn't thinking straight! It was the twenty-first century after all and not okay to treat people badly due to their looks and _she_ knew that! Why did he have to round on her like that?

Maybe…maybe it was because he was embarrassed…or afraid…but of her? Had their days in music lessons and politics and nights in history and books not been enough to show him that she wasn't the one to worry about? She thought they had been getting along just fine until she had to use the bathroom! She actually, sort of, liked him, his company, his questions, his music, his care…him. Why, why, did he have to react like that?

Meg had finally called her back and only wanted to talk about the cat and see pictures. Christine wanted nothing to do with the kitten as he managed to pee directly outside of the liter box as if in protest. The cat was getting ridiculous! Meg said she had written a story while the power was out, as in, actually wrote it down and now she was trying to convert it to a document. She said it might be a really big deal and she wanted to tell Christine about it before it was published, but she couldn't over the phone. They lastly talked about the wake the next day. Meg said she would stand with Christine. That meant a lot. No one else would standing with her.

After a terrible night of sleep, followed by a shower that was far from ever getting warm, Christine worked to cover up the bags under her eyes with makeup. As she looked into the mirror, at her sad, tired reflexion, she swore to herself that she would not make a mess as the memorial. No matter what happened, she would be polite and aloof, and not giving any notions of being the ex-lover of Raoul Peters.

Meg and Christine arrived by Uber Black Car to try as to not draw attention by others of much higher wealth that would be arriving via private driver. The National Cathedral was just far enough away from the metro to make walking difficult in heels. The sky was clear that day without a cloud in it and the sun felt nice on their heads as they made their way up the steps to the giant wooden doors.

"I wish they would have modeled this after the Duomo in Florence rather than Notre Dame." Meg said with a sigh, "I always thought the Duomo in Florence was more beautiful."

"I've only seen pictures," Christine commented, pulling her pea coat closer to her as the wind picked up.

"We'll have to go sometime, chica," Meg hugged her friend's shoulders, "We're not too old for a backpacking trip, are we?"

Christine smiled, despite how she felt, "I guess not yet."

"Sounds good." Meg waited a moment, "You ready?"

"Yeah, yeah, let's do this."

They walked into the wooden doors and into the main chapel. Meg went to the holy water and crossed herself. Quickly after, Christine followed and did the same, trying to make it appear normal, shivering a little at how cold the liquid was in the basin.

"I know I'm not Catholic," Meg whispered into Christine's ear, "but it's the only way you get to enter crazy big churches in Europe without being kicked out for not being religious enough."

They walked down the aisle with arms linked and took a spot about ten rows behind the front. At the front was a closed coffin with Raoul Peter's handsome picture mounted above it. White roses were bunched in bouquets and laid on top of the coffin. Other flower arrangements covered the alter and into the sides of the pews. The family sat up front, the women dabbing their eyes, the men staring forward in portrayed strength.

Christine looked away from the portrait and family and started to focus on the beauty of the church and how kindly the sun flowed in from the windows. She noted the architecture and began to wish that she were in Paris or Florence instead. Anything but where she was now would be fine. Her eyes drifted as more people came into the room. Some of them she recognized from Congress, those from her office nodded and sadly waived to her in recognition, others, she didn't know. What was unmistaken was when Dr. Underwood came in, his aid not far from his side. As per usual, when he entered, a rather wide path was made for him from people not wanting to cross his path.

She quickly looked away with a gasp and tried to calm her breathing. Despite her efforts at calming herself from the other morning, fear still pricked at her mind.

"You okay, Chris?" Meg asked cautiously.

Christine didn't answer. She had nothing she could say that would explain anything. Meg patted her arm, "We can always leave if you'd rather go. Nothing is keeping you here."

"I…I know. I'm fine. I'm sorry."

"Okay, whatever you say." Meg said, kindly squeezing her friend's hand.

When the organ started to play to mark the service officially beginning, Christine felt her throat dry. It was the same song that had been played at her father's funeral, the same feeling in the air. Sounds of sniffles, the faint brush of tissues being pulled, ragged breathing. The recognition of everything to her senses was taking its toll and Christine began pant through her teeth.

"Christine?" Meg whispered.

"I can't Meg," she gasped, "I can't."

"We can leave, hon. We can go now."

"I can't go." she shut her eyes tight and nearly slapped her hands over her head, "I have to, I have to…"

"Christine, you can do whatever you want, honey."

The sunlight through the window was suddenly becoming too bright, "I can't breathe, Meg."

"Honey, just take a breath. Just take a big breath."

People's heads were starting to turn to her as the music was ending its last note. Christine was becoming a distraction and the world might as well have been closing in. Everyone sat down and Meg gently led her friend to do the same, an arm around her back. The priest began to speak, but Christine tuned him out. She couldn't hear about death. She couldn't handle it.

"It's okay, honey. I'm here," Meg soothed in her ear, holding Christine to her, "You're not alone, hon, I'm here."

Time passed. Different people went and talked about the good times with Raoul. The only one who resonated with Christine was Phillip Tusk, but she didn't pay much attention to anyone otherwise. She, instead, focused on her breathing. As a distraction, she even started to practice how long she could sustain her breath support as she counted steady beats out with her fingers on her legs. It was enough to keep her from making a scene. She recalled the sound of steadying herself enough to be able to walk out of this place without falling down the steps and making anymore of a scene. She had decided not to see the family, not to offer them any condolences as it would destroy her to do so. They might as well have killed him and she hoped they knew it.

They were able to sweep through the crowd on the way out and not cause any attention to come to them. Meg led Christine to the steps outside to get out of the way and sit her friend back down faster. They took up some of the last visible light as the sun made its way behind the giant church. Christine's eyes kept to the sky as people made their way out, talking quietly as they departed.

"The sky was just as blue when they buried Dad," she said suddenly to Meg. "You see all those movies where it rains. It doesn't seem right when the sky looks so beautiful."

Meg squeezed her friend's hand, "Fate can be a bitch."

Christine smiled a little, "I thought that was kharma?"

"We're at a church. It didn't seem right to change religions…or curse God. Fate falls in between."

"You're a good friend, Meg." Christine said, laying her head on Meg's shoulder.

"Oh I know, I know."

They laughed a little watching as the rest of the people cleared out slowly. Meg offered to call an Uber and they waited for the driver to arrive. Christine noticed when Erik and his aid left. He did not turn a look at her. Why should he? They weren't supposed to actually know each other. She sighed, a bit relieved of their lack of interaction. Once the Uber came, they decided to go out for Lebanese food in Woodly Park instead of heading back to their houses.

XIX

Of course Christine Gallagher was the first thing Erik saw when he and Doug entered the church. Despite his best efforts of distraction over the past thirty-six hours, she was the only thing that filled his mind. It was the fear in her eyes, the tears on her face, her so obvious hurt from his words…that was the nightmare that he never needed sleep to see. _She_ had ruined their strange friendly existence and he made sure to cut any remaining ties of it, whether intentionally or not. She had said how he hurt her, but it was his wounds that were now open, he who had been so nice to her, had even cared for her, and everything had been betrayed. He refused to believe in accidents, refused to believe in her tales of being tired. She must have been waiting for him to falter, to have to make the adjustment after having left the mask on for so long while she was there. He was willing to bare that pain for her kind smiles and pleasant laughter, but now no more.

Seeing her at the memorial stung him. He noticed her look towards him followed by her quick retreat. Taking a seat further from her, he could still make out the back of her blonde head. Like a hunter, he stood still and unnoticeable to her, but always keeping an eye out. When the organ started, he saw her shoulders shake, saw her reporter friend try to steady her with quiet words, and he wanted to blow everything up because of it. She was crying for another man. Not him. She would cry for someone as pretty as Raoul Peters and cry for herself when she was insulted, but she would not care for him when he was hurt.

Cruel words formed in his head, crueler intentions followed, and he was ready to do every last one of them to stop the ceremony so that she knew what it really felt like to be hurting inside and out. She deserved to suffer for fooling him as she had. She being one of the few to ever be let in so close and then get the best of him. No one would get the best of him again. He was in this for power and he would have his power over the little chit Gallagher.

After the ceremony, he noticed her leave with her friend close by. He would not follow, would not let on to the idea that she had been the only thing to fill his head for the entire week. Doug suggested they see the family, specifically Phillip. While he was right, Erik rolled his eyes. No one particularly liked the Peters family, they were more of a group that you had to tolerate in the old money circles. Without Phillip, they would be well within the middle class, perhaps lower with the daughters obvious drug problems.

They didn't have to wait too long in line as not many people were interest in speaking with them. He and Doug shook the hands of the family members. Erik made note to wash his hands after the event. He wondered if Christine would have been considered to stand with them if she had been of higher wages in class or money. No, Christine had been another girl to Peters. Despite what had happened, he couldn't help but be furious at the thought of Raoul's ungrateful and perfect arms around his Christine.

He finally reached Phillip and put out his hand. The older man, when catching Erik's eye, pulled him closer to speak into his good ear. The close contact made him tense. Phillip whispered, "Richard knows I won't be swearing in and you and I know why. Call off the report and your name will be first for consideration."

Erik pulled back and looked into the man's eyes. He looked…tired. That was unlike him. Perhaps he was even sad. Erik had understood for a little while how much Phillip was trying to bring his younger step-brother up the ranks, even if it appeared that he wanted little to do with him. This event may have struck him and Erik saw his chance.

"Done," he said, shaking Phillips hand in a strong grip. He turned back to Doug, "Let's go Khan."

They walked quickly and purposefully through the isle and down the steps. Luckily, Meg and Christine could be seen sitting still outside and far away from them. The two kept their pace.

"Retrieve the packet and any written materials, Khan. Be thorough, be quick."

"Yes, sir."

Khan hailed a cab and was off. Before Before Erik could return to his car, his phone buzzed in his pocket. It was Richard Walker.

 _Bench. Left of stairs. Behind trees._

Erik could have smiled, but not yet. Not until he had everything in tact. Finally something to push him over. Finally something get him out of Congress. Finally something more promising than what Christine or anyone else turned out to be. He found Walker easily behind a large bush. The bench was concealed well, but Erik chose not to sit, instead leading up on the trunk of a birch tree.

"I told him it wasn't his decision," Richard said quietly, his back bent over his laced hands "That it was America's, but you know he doesn't listen to anyone."

Erik stayed quiet and crossed his arms, wanting Walker to continue on his own.

"He has worked so hard to hide what love he always had for his brother. It's a shame. This this matter, we have not only lost a representative, but a vice president." Richard looked up to him, creases in his forehead, "I was somewhat surprised when he mentioned you for the role."

"You disagree with his suggestion."

Walker sighed, "Not entirely. What I'm trying to avoid is argument here, Erik. Ultimately, it's not your decision, remember? You and I do not suite that well and that was why we saw you staying in the House as a better option. Your critics call you stubborn and they aren't wrong. You lack compromise."

"Then you can always count on me to hold you to your word." Erik clipped back.

"Yes, you've always been very good at holding such vendetta's. But such a position is more than politics. Erik, you know you don't represent the full picture."

His eyes narrowed, "Meaning?"

"Meaning…well, meaning family. You've never shown interest in anything put political and financial gain. How do the American people stand behind that when they would rather believe the dream is to retire early with their loved ones. And even that is becoming impossible. You're an image of power with no image of the common people. People outside of your district cannot relate to you in any sense. How are they supposed to support my decision to support you?"

"My family is dead." Erik said through his teeth. The entire argument seemed idiotic.

"Then make a family. You don't even appear to try to marry, Erik. America is a nation of families and they want to see a man with a strong _and_ soft side. You're strength is clear, but you have nothing but your politics and the people will not see that as a comfort. They need that vulnerability."

Erik froze, his mind jumping forward and forward, faster and faster, making ties and conclusions in seconds, then shoving them away once finding issue. There had to be a way to quickly resolve this. He smirked when he figured out to have the upper hand, "You know so much about my life, do you?"

Richard looked truly confused, "Are you telling me you-"

His mind kept reeling and reeling. Past events shooting out windows and exploding in his head to make way for what had to be done, "I haven't asked her, but she is a good candidate. She would be…perfect."

"You speak of her like she is solely political gain."

"And what would that matter to the people?" He spoke even faster, "She is better at compromise than I am. She often calls me to see the other side of issues. Her wealth does not surpass middle class. That is relatable, is it not?"

Now Richard was speaking faster, trying to talk him out of this scheme, "There's more to this than just having a wife. To be the wife of such a huge political position is far beyond just marriage. There is an entire lifestyle-"

"She is not an imbecile. No, she is rather smart…" Erik felt the twitch of his lips as they turned up, "How entertaining would it be to have a presidential-style wedding? When was the last time that happened? Young people love weddings. Hell! You can serve as the man to wed us. You're a captain, are you not? This would be flawless."

Walker paused before he continued, choosing his words very carefully, "Does she know about any of this?"

This time Erik paused.

"I have work to do." He clipped, taking his weight off the tree, "Is there anything else you need of me?"

"Erik…do you know what you're getting into?"

He laughed and the sound was not a joyful thing to hear, "I'm getting into the Vice Presidency by _compromising_ my right to be single, so yes, yes I do."

"Erik-"

"Is this the only obstacle for me to tackle here?"

"With Phillip's recommendation, yes."

"Am I excused, Mr. President?"

"Erik…" He sighed, shaking his head, "Tell me how it goes."

* * *

 **heheheheheheehehe crazy Erik :D :D :D**


	20. Chapter 20

**Here's a more average sized chapter. Lots of stuff happening. To those who are reading and are not reviewing/following/favoriting, I hope you're liking it so far! To those you who leave me your thoughts, you're the bestest :) **

**Heads up - there are some T-rated words in this chapter. Keep in mind, I've said that this is rated T for language from the beginning. If I get to a point where I rate it M, it will be due to some, er, intimacies...but we're not there...yet...**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty**

While a bit more expensive than what either of them were used to getting, Lebanese Taverna turned out to be the a good decision as Meg and Christine casually chatted over hummus and pita points. Not long after, another woman sat down at the table behind Christine. On the way back from the bathroom, Christine had seen her and noted how beautiful she was from her high lighted dirty blonde hair, properly made up blue eyes, full chest, and long legs. This wouldn't have mattered so much if it weren't for the conversation she overheard from the woman had as Meg had to take a phone call from work.

"Yeah, I just came back from this guy's funeral thing. It was at the Cathedral. " The woman told her friend. Christine's ear perked in from behind her.

"Omgad, I'm so sorry."

"I mean, it's okay. We were friends in like, middle school I think. I had forgotten who he was until I met up with him on H Street."

"Wait girl, you mean like met up-met up?"

"Yeah, like a few times. What did you think?"

"I can never keep up with you, sexy! That is so weird, by the way. How long ago was it?"

Christine held her breath. It must have been months. It had to have been months and months and months.

"Like, a month or two? He knew a good dealer so we hooked up when we got our shit. He didn't always last long, but he was good with his fingers."

Christine was trying not to choke.

"Funny how you can be fucking one day and dead the next, isn't it?"

"Whoa girl, you just made that sound gross. We fucked _before_ he died, not after. That's gross."

Christine had an urge to slap the blonde with her purse. She wanted to put her face into the glass she drank and watch the blood come from her pretty made up face. Her hands gripped at the seat, her breathing staggered, and she knew that it wasn't this girl's fault. It was _Raoul's_ betrayal.

Tripping out of the seat and heading for the door as fast as she could, Christine literally ran into Meg on her way out. She couldn't take it anymore, couldn't take any of it anymore. This was finally too much. Meg quickly turned with uncanny grace and followed her friend back into the cold.

"Hey hon, where're you heading?" she asked carefully.

Christine didn't make it far out of the restaurant before turning into the ally. The ice didn't make the break in her knees any easier and she fell to the pavement with a scream. Meg was beside her in a second, holding her shoulders to her chest and hushing her. The girl's body shook in sobs, her breathing mix matched at best. There was so much to handle, so much to deal with and she was happy to live in ignorance if it meant burying the pain with Raoul.

"Make it stop, Meg!" she screamed, hands over her ears.

"Make what stop, honey?"

"The pain…I'm in…so much…pain." she sobbed, her shoulders throwing themselves up and down with force.

"Oh Chris-"

"No!" She yelled, "No, he was a cheat! He was a bastard cheat!"

"Whoa, where is this coming from?"

"Some woman in there. Some woman who was rich and doing drugs and with blonde hair and long legs and beautiful. She was his casual fling when he did drugs. She said it at the table. I know - I know we couldn't be out and official, but, but I thought that…he told me that we…Told me that he loved me and… Oh god! It's true! He was a cheat!"

Knowing that this was not the best place for a commotion, Meg did what she could to consul her friend. An older man stopped from walking on the sidewalk and turned into ally to ask if the women were okay. Meg thanked then shooed him off. Not long after, the young bar tender from the restaurant came out to ask them to pay.

"Here," Meg shoved a few bills in his hands, "That for the appetizer and the drinks, plus tip."

He backed away slowly, not sure what to make of the situation. Meg turned back to her friend.

"We should go, hon." she whispered holding Christine close, "Let's get you home, okay?"

"I hate him! I hate him, Meg! And I hate my life now!"

"Don't say that, honey, okay? Hate him, sure, but you're going to be just fine, okay?"

They ended up taking an Lyft back to Eastern Market. Meg made sure her friend was comfortable, eventually playing Candy Crush on her phone as Christine fell asleep. Simba came out for a little, but he didn't seem very interested in her. Meg wasn't a huge fan for cats. It was a little past eight when Christine finally woke up. She checked her phone and jumped off the bed.

"What is it?" Meg asked.

"I have to go." Christine was looking around as if suddenly lost, "I have to be somewhere."

Meg was concerned by her friend. Was that fear in her voice?

"What's wrong, Chris?"

"I'm sorry," she was throwing her coat and hat back on, "but I have to be somewhere soon. I can't explain."

Meg stood, a hand moving to her hip, "More secrets? Really?"

"Meg," Christine came to her and took her hands, "You deserve to know. You do. And I'll tell you everything after." She hugged Meg suddenly, "I can't keep this secret from you anymore. Too much has happened."

"What do you mean? You're freaking me out here."

"Don't be," she was at the door. "I'll tell you everything, but I've got to get there before I'm late."

"What for?"

"A stupid singing lesson." With that, the door slammed shut for a moment only to be opened again. Christine rushed in and grabbed the cat, tucking it into her pocket. "Lock up when you leave?"

"Where are you taking Simba?"

She sighed, "He likes Roach more than me and I'm tired of him keeping me awake whenver I try to sleep!"

The door slammed again and Meg was left in a state of confusion that would follow her the entire slow and delayed Metro ride back to U Street.

XX

Doug Nadir already knew much of Meg Barnes apartment. He knew how much she paid on rent, how much her utilities were and how the key needed to be pushed up and in to unlock the door. Once inside, he saw the studio that he had already witnessed on the small camera he placed in the ceiling tile some hours before he gave her the documents. It wasn't that he had been paying so much attention to her. It was more to be sure that no one came to see anything prematurely. This was the standard procedure and Underwood had access to it.

The dog immediately began to bark from its place on the sofa in front of his path. Expecting this, he pulled a few dog treats from his bag that had crushed sleeping pills in them. They were not as strong as they were quick to the system. By the time the dog had finished eating, the powder would be in effect.

As this happened, he moved around the sofa and coffee table to get to the wall with the pinned up documents. One by one, he took them down with gloved hands, stacked them up, and placed them in the same manila envelope that they came in, taking care to place the thumb tacks neatly on the desk in a place where they wouldn't fall. He did not do so many inside jobs anymore, but he always made sure things were not in a mess from his wake. Nor did he want to accidentally hurt the dog. There was no reason to make his actions appear threatening to her. They were not.

Lastly, he cracked her computer passwords after having remembered from the footage. Once searching her computer for any copies, he removed all evidence and slipped her thumb drive into the envelope. There were no online copies of anything from her. He had already made a few calls to check. Before leaving, he placed a small typed note on top of her computer.

Without taking another glance at the apartment, he left. Underwood had instructed him to leave the camera, but he wasn't exactly sure why. Regardless, he doubted anyone would be looking for it. Basic investigators would not consider this case as much of a threat as it could have been.

XX

When Christine arrived, she all but completely tripped up the steps. Underwood was there with the door open as usual and she slipped past him and into the hall. She took Simba out of her pocket and scooted him into the Din, opposite of the Study. He didn't have to search long before disappearing into one of the furniture pieces that she had learned doubled as a hiding place for Roach. Choosing not to look at him, she began to remove her coat and hat.

"You are late," he said quietly.

"I know," she panted, "I fell asleep after… and, well, here I am."

"And you're out of breath."

His accusations were making her uncomfortable and she made her way to the Study to avoid being caught in the hall again, "Give me a second and I'll be fine."

"I was waiting for you." He said quickly, "I thought you weren't coming."

He sounded very odd and she looked back at him once reaching the fire. Her instinct was to ask if something was wrong, but she thought better of it. Of course things were off, of course something was wrong. _Everything_ was all wrong.

"What would you do if I weren't around?" he asked, almost menacingly, as he stood directly in the doorway. Christine started to feel trapped and took a small step backwards.

She answered slowly, "I would…apply for a new job and collect unemployment if I have to. I have some savings."

"With your salary and lack of spending on finer things, I take it you have enough savings to make it a little while., six months at best." His reply was quiet.

"Yes…So?"

He wasn't moving any closer physically, but she felt him taking more space in the room. She didn't move again, not wanting to appear as small as she was beginning to feel.

"Say you didn't find a new job in time? You don't have the typical minimum of years experience being the head of a a congressional office. You might not even get through the door. Then what if your savings fell out, what then?"

The subject was forwarding into very unsettling territory for her, a place that she would not go back to that no matter what, "I know. And you know." She snapped, "I've already been there and I don't ever plan on going back." He took a step into the Study and she took a step back without thought. She continued slowly, "What's the point of all of these questions? Are you saying our deal is over? If that's the case I'll go home."

He shrugged, "Why would our deal be over? _You_ made a mistake. I've made the conscious decision to see past it."

She chose to _see past_ him giving her the blame and that comment and continued, "Then why are you asking me all these questions? I've done what you've asked whenever you've asked it, haven't I?"

"Yes," He smiled and she wanted to run, but he continued, "and no."

She took another step back, "What…what do you mean?"

He made his way to stand opposite of her by the fire. The colors of flame colored his white mask and she felt his face might have well been just as heated, "This arrangement is strange. Why would I give you something with nothing in return?"

"I don't know." She said slowly, "I've asked you that and you said gain, didn't you? It was your idea."

They caught eyes for a moment, but he quickly stepped over to the window to look out, lacing his fingers behind him. "Gain…Yes. This past week was pleasant enough, yes?"

"I…guess."

"I mean _before_ the incident Saturday morning, Christine." He nearly snarled.

"Yes, yes, it was nice." She answered quickly.

He turned to her and nodded, "It was, wasn't it? You agree that we got along well enough."

"Yes…"

"Good. I think the arrangement I have in mind will work well."

"What…arrangement?"

A dangerous smile crossed his lips, not at all making it up to his eyes as he stated, "Quite simply, you will marry me."

It took her too long to find her voice or the ability to move her jaw from its slack open position, or her eyes to blink after being so wide, " _W-what_?"

Taking a breath, as if to calm himself, he said, "I need you to marry me."

Her next word fell out and seemed to crash on the floor, " _Why_?"

"I'm after the Vice Presidency. And I need to have a better family image then….what I currently have."

"But Phillip Tusk…" Reality struck her and she whispered, "Is he dropping out?"

He took a step forward making her step back, "You are smart, Christine."

Her hand went to her forehead to try and stop the spinning sensation she felt, "But…but why me?"

His eyes flashed back to her, "Who else?"

She looked to her feet and shifted as her hands moved to where his once where on his forearms. "But-but you don't even like me! I thought you hated me!"

"I like you fine enough," he retorted with a shrug, "That's insignificant."

She took a step forward and looked to him again, "But we're not even friends. This whole arrangement is a secret."

"We see each other often. We talk about many things. We've had meals together. Friends do such things."

Her mind was spinning to the times between them, none of them she would particularly define as friendly. Everything would be so black and white to him. God, it made it sound so damn simple! She could try to fight, but she would need more ammunition. Her steps backwards finally bumped her into the arm chair he tended to claim. She let her weight fall on one of the arms without thought. "I need to think about this."

"Why? We could be married. I don't see any issue." He added the next comment as a cruel afterthought, "You can always divorce me in four years if the arrangement is too intolerable. By that time, I'll have been re-elected with Walker and it won't matter."

Strange tears were stinging her eyes and she couldn't figure out what emotion was causing them. She held herself together, but her voice cracked, "This isn't how you ask someone to marry you, Erik!"

"I wasn't going to ask you here!" Was he… _excited_? "No…it would need to be public. There would need to be potential cameras or some vermin to document it. Flowers, maybe, and the ring would have to be seen from a distance. Anything less wouldn't do. An orchestra, maybe."

A sickness started to grow in her stomach and she had to hold it to coax it to stay in, "Oh my god…"

He took a step to her, leaving hardly two feet between them, "I need you to tell me you'll say yes when I ask. I cannot have you deny me in front of others. There is too much riding on this. I'm sure you understand."

"No." She said pointedly, "No, I don't understand."

His visible eyebrow went up, "This upsets you."

"Yes!"

"You're…tearful."

Christine brushed the embarrassing tears from her face with her hands and choked what was left back down and turning away from him, "This isn't how things are supposed to be. This whole day has been nothing but Hell!"

"Then tell me how you want them and I'll do whatever you want." He said as if making up a business contract.

A cold truth fell on her and the words that followed were involuntary and cold, "He didn't love me. He said he did, but he…he couldn't have so…and I knew that if his family ever agreed…I would be a trophy or something and…he didn't…couldn't…" She felt vulnerable for having said something he didn't need to know. Instead on continuing, she took a breath and said, "You don't love me either."

There was a thick silence. When he didn't outright agree with her, she turned around and put her head into the back of the chair in utter exhaustion. This had to be a sick joke. There was no way he could harbor anything but hate. He pulled away from the fire and turned away from her entirely to look back out the window. She saw his back stiffen, then droop as his hands came together in front of him. After a few moments of this, he straighten back up and only slightly turned the unmasked side of his face to her.

"I don't love anyone. Most significantly, myself." She audibly sighed and turned back to the fire. At least he was honest about it, "But…if I had ever come close to either concept, it has only ever been with you."

When her eyes tried to meet his again, he turned away from them. His words confused her beyond belief and she gasped, " _What_?"

He walked past her from the fire light and touched the side of his desk lightly with the tips of his fingers. "I know what you fear, Christine. You fear homelessness and being alone. You often feel that you are always a matter of days from facing such things at all times. If you agreed to this arrangement, I would ensure that you never know what that feels like again no matter what. There is no discrepancy over my wealth and I wouldn't fight you if you in four years if you chose to take it with you in divorce. In addition, it is not as if I have other people, or women for that matter, to steal my attention from you. While I may not be able to offer you a traditional understanding of love, I can offer you security and I will always ensure that you will never fear the things you have had to fear in the past. I will swear to that."

He finally looked back at her and she realized that her tears had stopped. Before her stood such a strong man in stature, but there was care that shown in his eyes. The idea of loving someone else seemed too painful anyway and his offer to never be in want again would not be in vain. Still, this was nothing like anything she would have thought would be her life. So many of her childhood dreams had crumbled and now here she was being offered a practical fairy tale, but one without the love she desired seemed so empty.

Her weight fell to the bookshelf near the fireplace. She needed some kind of support, "What if it's not enough? What if…what if I want to be loved, too?" She managed to stumble out. "I've been loved before…before…and…"

Her vision blurred as she stared at the seat of the chair. She did not hear him walk back to her and she jumped when she realized that he was now bending to be at eye level with her. The image stung and seemed to mock everything that had just happened. She shook her head and turned away to the fire.

"I won't make you look at me, but you must listen Christine."

"No." She pushed herself up and made her way to the sofa near the window, "I will not listen to anymore of you or anything else from this day." She could feel her body shaking, dreams shattering everywhere. Everything her father would have wanted dying around her.

His steps towards her were silent again and she trembled in her pain. Two hands took her left hand in theirs and she turned around in shock. Her eyes couldn't help but follow them back to him. They incased hers so easily and she realized once again how weak she must have appeared him, let alone the rest of the whole damn world. Before she could think of more horrible things, he whispered to her hand as it had been pulled up to his chin. She could feel his breath on the tips of her fingers.

"Perhaps you can tell me something…" he said as he stared at her hand seemingly fascinated with it, "Perhaps you can tell me why it is that I hate to see you cry and how I despise the notion that I could be the one to make it happen." He seemed to study her hand, turning it over to see her palm. She didn't fight him, curious to what he was trying to find. His index finger lightly traced a few lines on her hand, "Tears always seemed so pointless to me. A waste of energy…but when you cry, it is not an annoyance or anything of that sort… It simply makes me want to do something to make you stop." He looked back up to her, "Perhaps you can tell me what it is I can do to make you stop crying now?"

When she did not answer, he spoke again, raising his right hand, leaving her left his other hand, "Permit me, then?" His thumb ran lightly, carefully across her cheek right into her hair line, taking tears that had stained her face with it. She noticed how callused his finger was, like her father's from having played the violin so long, yet he was so soft with his touch. His hand followed her hair down gently and the feeling caught and relaxed her. Her eyes feel and nearly closed.

"Will you say yes, Christine?" he asked softly.

She shook her head from his hand, "I need to think."

His fingers curled in her hair a bit when he spoke, "You think persistently. Just answer."

"And how you would feel if I said that to you?"

"But you see, I've have everything already thought out. I'm offering the future your father always wanted, am I not? You will not have to work slavery hours in an office, or answer to anyone you don't want to. You can sing when you like, public or private, and you won't have to ever worry about your survival again. I've thought this out for both of us, I just need you to say yes."

"But…but political duties…" she closed her eyes tightly to think better and moved his hand away as her head began to shake with doubts, "To be that kind of perfect woman that people look to. I'm poor. I don't understand that. I can't live up to it."

"You won't have to. How horrible would it be for a nation of the ninety-nine percent to actually be able to relate to the person they see in the lime light? You can hide from it if you think that would be best, I just need you to stand by me when it matters."

She pulled her hand from him and placed knotted both of her hands in her hair in frustration, "But you'll be even busier than you are now! There's no way I could fit in, so what's the point? This is a terrible idea!"

"And how awful would that be?" He quickly countered, "Perhaps you would like the time to yourself? You could travel, you know? When I'm touring the country you could explore elsewhere. Find those stars, hm?"

"No I-" His points were beginning to interest her, but the trust wasn't there and she continued, "That would never work out! Erik, I can't." She took her hand back and crossed her arms over her chest, "And I'm no good for anyone. Everyone who gets close to me dies…literally dies!"

"Then, I'll leave you my fortune. Would that be so awful? You can buy your own island and tell the rest of the world to rot in Hell." He took her left hand back and held it to him again, "Marry me, Christine. I'm no good with others either and my track record precedes yours. Regardless, you're one of the few people I'll publicly admit to tolerating. Am I not the same to you?"

She played his card against him, "I thought our agreement was to be in secret."

"As I was the one to formulate that agreement, I amend it now." He squeezed her hand, "Marry me, Christine."

Air was suddenly hard to find and her throat was closing around the words, "B-but I can't-"

"Not a good answer."

"Erik, you're not making this fair." She pulled her hand from his roughly, "Let me think!"

"If you weren't thinking it would work, you would have already said no, would you not?"

"Not exactly-"

"Say 'yes.'"

"Not like this!"

"Very well then." He moved away from her and began to pace just a few feet before her, his hands laced behind his back, "Do you desire a nice dinner? Five courses? Seven? A full orchestra? Roses and a ring bigger than you knuckle inside some frosted flower on top of a damn red velvet cake in the shape of a caricature heart? Is that what you want Christine?"

"No! _No_! I don't like any of that!"

He rounded to her with intensity, "Then what do you want. Tell me, whatever it is, whatever romantic regurgitation you want and I'll make it happen, but I need you to say yes!"

His volume had gotten loud enough that it echoed in her ears long after he spoke, the words running round and round until she thought she had heard them far more times than he had said them. There had to be a middle ground. If this was going to happen, if she had no choice, then there had to be something that could win her over and she had to tell him something to get him thinking about anything else.

"It's…" She started slowly wringing her hands, "It's got to…to mean something to you."

He crossed his arms, "Only your answer will mean something to me."

"Fine!" He was ruining everything, "Then my answer will depend on if you can actually show me some kind of care! I refuse to marry someone for their money and I'd love it if you'd stop trying to trap me into another agreement as if this were some other daily business for you!"

He raised a visible eyebrow, "So my money is no longer good enough for you?"

"Most people marry someone because they love them." She snapped, turning her nose up to him, " _That's_ what my dad would have wanted."

"I offer you documented millions and you chose something as unstable as love?"

She sighed, "I guess."

"Then feel free to guess your change of mind."

"Erik-"

"No! No! No! This conversation is over! You will either marry me or never marry anyone!"

"What do you mean?" she whispered.

"You accuse me of being a bachelor forever, you say that I'm meant to be alone, well, you're mistaken. You are the only one in forty goddamned years that have ever made me think differently, to ever _want_ something different. From the beginning you should have known you were wrong and you are! Our worlds are intertwined now and they always will be. And you will marry me, Christine. You will marry me because we're the only people in this whole damned country to actually understand each other and call each other out on that. No one can side track me and get away with it, _no one but you._ " He stopped his words suddenly, looking closely at her, then turned his attention to the window, "We need each other. There is nothing more to discuss or consider. There are only facts and the fact is that _we need each other_. Do you disagree?"

"Erik - "

"Do you?"

The word fell from her before she could stop it, "No."

"Then it's settled. And come tomorrow night you will find that word you denied me this evening." He took a few steps away from her to the wall before saying, "You can go now."

She straightened up, took a breath, and proceeded towards the door to get her coat. Before leaving the room entirely she looked back at him, "I don't like red velvet cake…or caricature hearts." She spoke quietly, "And…and if you want me to say yes, well, I know how much money you have and how much you could spend to make this…what it would be. But, if you want me to, well, agree then well, it's got to mean something to you too."

He kept his cold eyes to the window, "Goodnight, Ms. Gallagher."

She sighed, "Goodnight, Dr. Underwood."

* * *

 **Only 2 more chapters left to Part One before I take a hiatus to finish Part Two! In the meantime, I may release a 10 chapter Leroux based story. Follow me as an author if you'd be interested in checking it out (that will be rated M as a heads up, but I'm working to keep it tasteful)! Otherwise, follow/favorite this story so you'll be sure to know when Part Two comes out!**

 **PS - I'll make you a deal (because I'm greedy) if 10 of you leave reviews on this chapter, I'll update chapter 21 earlier than Sunday and still post chapter 22 for my regular Sunday update! If you like some E/C fluff (and you readers have been very patient on it so you deserve it!) I think you're going to like Chapter 21 & 22 :-D**


	21. Chapter 21

**Oh wow! So many reviewers came out of the woodworks to get this chapter - THANK YOU! As promised, here is an early update! Thanks for all of your thoughts, I'd really love to keep hearing more!**

 **A correction on the last chapter: One draft of the chapter said "...only person in fifty states..." and the other draft "...only person in forty years..." So as correction, Erik is 40 years old and there are 50 American states, not a 50 year old Erik...because, well, I need him to be younger for...stuff.**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-One**

Upon leaving Erik's home, Christine found herself running to the nearest metro station having seen three missed calls from Meg and a text that read, _Someone broke in and drugged Cloe. Please come. I don't want to be alone tonight._

Once at the metro, she checked the times written in red letters to see if it would be better to hail a cab. Still, with the roads not being completely free of ice, she didn't trust one. Fortunately, the train was on time and she made it out to U Street in very good time. From the U Street stop, she didn't wait to catch a bus, instead running and stumbling the six blocks up hill that it took to get to Meg's apartment.

When she reached the forth floor, having slipped in the front door behind another resident, she saw Meg having what looked like was a final conversation with an officer in the door way. The man tipped his hat at Meg and passed Christine without much interest. Christine reached out to give Meg a hug.

"It's time to talk," Meg whispered, "Let's get inside."

Over the course of the night, both women finally laid their cards of secrecy flat for each other. Meg, having a story that would destroy Raoul Peters in order to boot Phillip Tusk out of his perfect light as a result and Christine, being the secret interest of the allusive Erik Underwood. During the time, Cloe had woken up and taken to keeping her head rested on Meg's leg. Having no further secrets between them seemed to make the air much lighter.

"Part of me is glad that it happened," Meg said between sips of tea, "I was more worried that you would ask me not to print it, especially after what happened today. Then whoever was out to get Tusk would be out to get me too."

"But," Christine asked slowly, "Do you think you're in any danger?"

"No," Meg shrugged casually, "Not really. They left me a note saying they wouldn't."

"Is it still here?"

"No, the investigator took it to see if they could get any leads. He doubted it, though. There weren't any finger prints anywhere so they were wearing gloves. These are high profile people, whoever they are."

"What did it say?"

Meg looked to her forehead, trying to remember the words exactly, "'Our contract has immaturely expired. Your knowledge now serves inadequate. Redirect your writing to keep your career.'"

Christine replayed the words in her head, "Kind of cryptic, don't you think?"

"I don't think so. Basically, without proof, I have no story. So, that's a snow week wasted, but I'll recover. Besides, all of this police talk started to spark my interest on their line of work. I may write a short story on my own experience and leave out the real reason why the break in took place."

"You're so calm about all of this." Christine noted after a sip of tea.

"I could say the same thing about you." Her voice picket up pace with excitement, "Erik Underwood wanting to marry you! Erik Underwood wanting to marry _anyone_. You had better get those millions bucks in a legal contract before you say anything."

"But Meg, _marriage_." She set her cup down, "I'm only twenty-five. I don't feel that old. He said I could travel and do what I wanted, but we both know that can't be true. There will be responsibilities and events I'll be expected to show up to. What will he expect out of marriage? That was never talked about either!"

Meg gave her a weird look, "I…expect just about everything else. Unless, well, he never struck me as gay, a-sexual to the records, but _I_ never spent as much time with him, personally."

Christine felt herself blush, "No…oh my god. How did I not ever think about _that_? Oh god, I can't even think about that!"

"Really? Girl, _that_ would be the first thing I thought about! And you are a regulation hawtie!" Meg punched her shoulder and Christine couldn't help laughing a little, "Has he ever made any looks at you? Ever tried anything?"

Christine's eyes went back and forth as she tried to think quickly, "Well…no. He held my hand tonight, but it didn't seem so…I mean, it was strange just because we had never touched before."

"Risky behavior there." Meg said sarcastically, "Maybe he is an a-sexual to have not. Ever think of that? You could be married to an a-sexual and never have to worry about it. Doesn't seem so bad to me considering he's a gazillionare."

"He once called me beautiful," Christine added, "but he wasn't in the right head. I don't know. I just never thought about it."

"Hey, so long as you don't think he'll be abusive or anything like that, I say take the money and run. That's a song right? Just follow the song." Meg smiled, "We should turn on some tunes!"

Christine stopped her before she got up, "But Meg, I'm not like that. I want to work and do things and make my own way. Money or not it already feels like prison."

"Why can't this be kind of like making your own way?"

"Because I don't feel like I have a choice!"

"But Christine," Meg took her friend's hand and smiled, "you do. He's not putting a gun to your head or anything. You know, it's weird, I feel like he actually is trying to give you what you want. You used to love everything about music, but we both know music and art don't pay the bills. Unless you're my ma, but she's crazy. You have to admit that having money taken care of does make things a lot easier. and so long as you're smart on your end, you'll be set for life. So feel free to pay off my college loans for me, k?"

Christine sighed, "So you're saying I should say yes?"

"I'm saying you should count your luck. As strange as this thing is, so long as you get what you want contracted out, he can't expect anything from you, right? He wants a title wife and someone he can stand. Why not?"

"Because…" she had to think.

How could Meg be so casual about all of this? This was her entire life they were talking about! She didn't want to have to go through so many hoops just for four years. This entire bargain was ridiculous. When she finally thought about what her father would say, she knew what the issue was.

"Because, he doesn't love me. I don't want to be someone who has to get a divorce. I don't want to go through that. This isn't fair."

"Christine," she took her friend's hand warmly, "Nothing in life in fair. You know as well as I do that you've got to work for what you have and you have. You're last ten years have been harder on you than any other story I've ever heard of outside of a war torn country. Maybe this is what you've been working for, maybe this is your break. Why don't you take it?"

"But then…what does that mean? What does it look like? Raoul and I were dating as of two weeks ago and now I'm marrying someone else on a whim?"

"Firstly, it doesn't look like anything. No one knew you were actually together so as far as appearances go, so nothing looks bad. Secondly, it's not on a whim, you've already thought too much about it for it to be on a whim. And I know you have feelings for Raoul even though he was so messed up, but Underwood isn't asking you to have feelings for him, right? It sounds like he doesn't want you to get hurt, he just wants to look out for you. The only expectation that's there is your answer. Considering the crappy world we live in, that doesn't sound half bad to me, personally."

"Well, do we need to point out the obvious age difference? Or money difference?"

"People will say things, I know they will, but this happens all the time." Meg smiled with a glint of evil in her green eyes, "I'll just have to help you ignore it, then tell you dirty secrets about the reporters writing them."

Christine smiled lightly but sighed, "My stomach feels like its all knotted up. Too many emotions for one day."

"I agree and you look as tired as I do, I think. Maybe the tunes and dance party can wait for another day?"

"Yeah, I think I'll be able to pass once the lights are out."

"Good. You've got a big day tomorrow, chica."

XXI

Erik had skilled himself in reading lips. It was necessary in to have a leg up on those who wanted to speak more about him rather than to him. He had asked Khan to leave the surveillance camera up in Barnes' home for a week or so further, even as Doug had repeatedly told him there would be no point to it and it could have easily gotten them into other issues. The investigators passed it without thought, even seeming to question whether Meg was right in the head or not for having called them out there then say nothing was stolen.

He figured that Christine would be the first person she would call. He had also suspected that after such a day that they would be talking quickly, letting the dam of secrets burst now that there were no reasons to keep them from each other. Erik was prepared for the private relationship to end, why shouldn't she admit to it now?

It did concern him what Barnes might think as she seemed to be the only person that Christine went to for serious advice. Surprisingly, and necessarily, Barnes seemed to be in agreement that his plan was what was best for Christine and that she would be lacking of sense to decline. He even smiled when he noticed Meg trying to cheer her up. This was good. The only active people in her life were telling her two to one that this was the best thing for her.

As Barnes and the dog hoped onto bed in the corner of the room, Christine settled herself under a blanket on the couch. Once all lights were out, the camera switched to night vision. Christine lay there with her eyes wide open for a long time. She eventually turned to her side, reached into her purse for her phone and swiped it open. It didn't take her long to find what she was looking for. Erik couldn't see it from the angle of the camera, but from her eyes, she could tell that she wasn't reading, just staring.

It must have been a photo. Her expression showed pain and he wondered if it was that imbecile Peters that was looking back at her. The screen went dark a few times and she had to keep tapping it to see the photo. In time, she fell farther into sleep, her hand with the phone finally falling to her side to where he could see the outline of an older man with with thick curly hair, a younger girl wearing a huge smile and with blonde hair hugging his side.

Her father. He was the one standing in Erik's way. Alive or dead, that was who's approval he needed and if all he cared about was love, this situation would never work. He turned away from the monitor and looked out into the darkness of the Study. It was easy to note how very dark his house was without her around, specifically because he usually kept the fire low when he was alone. All of what was left of her now was the little orange kitten that curled up to Roach where she usually sat next to the fire.

It occurred to him that he may never win the dead man's approval. He wondered if the two of them had ever talked about what Christine would have wanted in a a husband. A sarcastic thought came to mind, _Not a half-face politician like you_. Still, this needed to be done. She had to say yes. There was no other way about this. He needed her and he needed her father to see that somehow.

A new thought came: if he was to win Christine, he would need to win over her father. That was the key. That was how he got her to give him what he needed.

Suddenly, there was far more work to do before tomorrow evening than he ever could have expected.

XXI

The day passed too quickly for Christine. Congress had one more day off before they went back in session and she wished that they would have started already so that Underwood wouldn't expect her to meet him so early in the evening. He had given her instruction via private messenger to be in front of The Kennedy Center no later than five that afternoon. The note, having been written on expensive parchment and sealed with wax and attached to a red rose.

She sent a photo to Meg with the text, _This is ridiculous._

Meg texted her a smiling emoji and Christine rolled her eyes. Another messenger with a note came about two hours before she planned to leave. This messenger brought a large box with them and she took it.

"Do you know if anyone else is coming?" Christine asked, "I'm about to take a shower and I'd hate to think anyone was waiting out here."

"I'm just the messenger," the woman said.

"Right," Christine shrugged and took the box inside, her shower still running from her trying to warm up the water. She opened the box, pulling off a layer of tissue paper to find dark sea green chiffon dress with a Hermes personalized tag folded on top of it with a hand written note reading, _This evening's events require such expenditures. Till dusk, E._

She texted _Meg, What's Hermes?_

The response was quick, _OMG LIKE ONE OF THE MOST EXPENSIVE CLOTHING LINES IN THE WORLD SHOW ME SHOW ME SHOW MEEEEEE!_

Christine held the dress out for herself to see. It was very elegant with a single thick strap over one shoulder, the bodice meant to hold tight over her chest until reaching a simple attached belt that would fall on her waist. The skirt of the dress flowed effortlessly to the floor. Christine shook her head. Even she couldn't deny that the dress was gorgeous. She wondered if it would fit her…not before a shower.

After a very long relaxing shower, she saw that she had missed about ten angry texts from Meg yelling at her to show the dress. She decided that her friend could wait a little longer until she had her hair dried. She kept her makeup light as usual, nothing too interesting or obvious. Her hair was another matter that she decided to braid and pin up to the back of her head for safety. Putting the nude heels that she used for the Crusade, she finally took a look in the mirror to take a picture of herself for Meg.

Once again, the response was immediate, _OMG STOP IT JUST STOP IT YOU'RE SO EFFING GORGE I CAN'T!_ Another text, _Have you thought about jewelry?_

 _No….thoughts?_

As if on cue, Christine's doorbell rang. She went to the door hesitantly. It was getting close to the time she would be leaving and she was worried that he would go so far as to pick her up. Nervous energy was beginning to fill her stomach. She didn't know what was going to happen and it was starting to be so much already. The dress…it was beautiful. And it somehow managed to fit her flawlessly and _she_ even liked it on her! She wondered if he had picked if or if someone else had, but there was no time to think on that.

On the other side of her door stood an older man in a black suite and cap. When she opened the door, he removed his cap and held out a smaller box to her.

"Evening, Ma'am. I'll be taking you to the Kennedy Center, but before we go, I was told to give you this."

Christine looked over the man's shoulder to see a black limousine parked neatly on the side of the road. She thanked him and asked for a few more seconds to get ready. He nodded politely and said he would wait in the car. Of course there was beautiful jewels in the box. Of course the shimmering white diamond square earrings and bracelet matched the dress and belt perfectly. Her reflection took her breath straight out of her body. With one last picture, she through the matching dark sea green cape over her dress and headed out.

The man introduced himself as Earl and held the door open for her on the limousine. Fortunately, she was the only one sitting in the back. She wondered how anyone could drive the tiny Washington neighborhood streets in such a long car, but Earl had no trouble. As he had told her she was welcome to drink whatever she liked during the trip, she took him up on the offer and had herself a full glass of white wine. She needed to calm down.

Without too much traffic, they were in front of the Kennedy Center. It was starting to get dark and the lights were on all around the building. The sounds of rush hour were starting to fill the air and half of her wished she had gotten stuck in it. Nonetheless, she thanked Earl as he helped her out of the limo and wished him a good night.

At the top of the steps, another man waited for her in a long black coat, "Good evening, Ms. Gallagher."

"Hello," she said quietly. She took a closer look at him, but couldn't place where she had seen his black hair, brown eyes, and strong jaw before before. He was an attractive guy, she noted, and appeared to be in good financial standing according to how well made and warm his coat was.

"How about we go inside?"

She followed him in and they walked down red carpet of the Hallway Of Nations together. There was an awkward silence as the two of them seemed to want to talk to each other, but couldn't find the exact words.

"I'm sorry," Christine finally said, "but do I know you? You look so familiar, but I can't place it."

The man turned to her and stopped his pace for a second, beaming with a full smile, "You remember me?"

"I think?" she shrugged, still trying to place him.

"Well, I don't want to give too much away. Wow. You were so young then. I can't believe it."

Christine smiled awkward, "Can you just tell me?"

The two of them turned and went down the white marble steps towards signs pointing them towards the Opera House auditorium.

"I guess if I were to point something small out, that would be alright."

She followed his finger to a poster outside of the National Symphony Orchestra auditorium on the wall of him holding a baton, his name printed below it.

"Stev Rein! You were the conductor when my dad was working for Boston Pops!"

He smiled genuinely, "I always knew you were smart, Christine!"

She could have hugged him, but suddenly felt weird in the context. So for a moment, the two of them simply stared at each other and smiled stupidly. She wanted to ask him so many questions, to ask about how he had wound up here, but they were now at the door of the auditorium.

"I'm not supposed to say anything else. Maybe we'll talk after, okay? And if not, I'm going to have to find you on Facebook at least. I want to hear about how you are. The music world misses you and your father more than you know. It's not every day we meet a pair like you two. Now come on,"

She was smiling bitter sweetly when they had entered. The lights were bright and magnificent over the red velvet chairs, carpet and side panels that glossed the house. As she had never been inside in years, all of it appeared very loud and distracting to her so she looked up to see the array of chandeliers that seemed to make a huge flower over the top of the ceiling. The white light calmed her enough to finally look to the stage. Before her sat the entire National Symphony Orchestra in their evening wear. As they saw the two of them enter, they stood as they would for the conductor. Stev led her to a seat in the center of the house about half way back behind a horizontal walkway that broke up the rows of seats past the orchestra section. Before leaving her there, Stev shook her hand and finally brought it to her lips to for a quick kiss.

"We're so excited to present this. So many of them had heard of your father. This is a treat for them too."

Stev hurried out of the row and made his way to the orchestra. Unlike the orchestra's she had gone to, it was strange to have no one clapping as he approached. It was so quiet and she could hear as Srev turned pages on his conductor stand. Before raising his baton, he looked back at her and smiled. She tried to smile back.

In truth, this was terrifying her. She had not heard an orchestra live in at least eight years. Was all of this to torture her? To threaten her into submission? Where was Erik anyway? She looked around fast to see if anyone else was in the auditorium. No one she could see. Maybe that was better. Maybe she could run if she needed to. Maybe no one would notice. There was still time.

A crackling came from the speakers around her and she looked up. Was someone turning on a recording? That didn't seem right. The lights dimmed on the house and a little bit on the stage as well. Someone began to speak from the monitors.

"Hello everyone, thanks for coming out here tonight."

Christine stood in fright and whispered, "It can't be." She would know that voice anywhere, from miles away, from centuries away. That was the one person, the only person, a ghost, her father. But he was well, he wasn't sick or coughing or dying. No, he was coming from the speakers. There were people who were watching him. It was a recording.

"I know it's been raining a lot recently, but the good news is, I just got my little lady here a new pair of rain boots which seems to change everything, doesn't it?"

Rain boots. Rain boots. They were pink and had flowers on them. It must have been the late eighties or early nineties. She had loved those boots up until the day her feet wouldn't fit in them anymore. They made her love the rain. Her father spoke again.

"I'm going to play for you what the classical world considers as pops, but that the modern world considers classics." He always said that for those kinds of concerts and her mouth hinted at a smile. "We hope you enjoy."

A violin was heard from the speakers as three half notes were played, as they were, the orchestra on stage began to float into the music, working with the song. The sounds blended well enough together despite the scratchy recording and when Christine closed her eyes, it might as well have been her father playing first chair right there with him. The song had always been one of her favorites, _Somewhere Over the Rainbow._

Suddenly, she didn't feel there standing in the middle of one of the aisles of the Opera House. No, she felt weightless, drifting, and happy. Truly happy. Her face lifted to the sky and while tears flowed freely down her cheeks, she smiled wider than she ever thought she could as the song began to shift. Christine was beginning to travel to another place. She remembered this night and this arrangement. It was for a small wedding where they could only afford one instrumentalist and chose her father. The father-daughter song had been a compilation of _Somewhere Over the Rainbow, Smile_ and something else she hadn't remembered yet.

She stood for minutes more, her eyes closed, her hands folded to her chest as if in prayer. She never wanted to lose this feeling of love and fullness. She didn't want to face the world once the music ended. This was her family, the only family she ever knew that knew her just the same. It was the music, the orchestra, her father. As the song began to shift into the last of the set, a new sound reached her ears.

A young pure voice filled the speakers and started to sing _Moon River_. That was the song, the one she had forgotten. She wanted to kick herself. How could she have forgotten on of her favorite songs? Because of that very reason. It was one of her favorite songs. She loved to sing it with her father and the voice she heard was so joyful. Pain filled her heart and she opened her eyes to the sounds of the song ending.

Immediately, she wanted it back, wanted them to play and play forever to fill the hole in her chest before it engulfed her. She walked forward a little to the edge of the next section of seats and placed her weight on the barrier there. The song had now ended and the orchestra stood, placed their instruments against their chairs, and began to clap. Stev then turned around and joined in with them.

She couldn't understand why they were clapping and so she stood there feeling dumb. A few people wiped a tear from their eyes. She still didn't understand.

"Christine," Stev called out, "You ought to know how important your father is to us." He turned back around, "Here, can everyone who has not heard of Mr. Charles Gallagher before this sit down." She watched as about fifteen people sat down. That still left nearly fifty people standing. "Now, all of those who have played with Charles, please stay standing." Roughly a third more sat down, still so many were standing. "And how many of you standing had the chance to meet Ms. Christine Gallagher, please raise your hand." All but ten people raised their hands and smiled back at her.

Christine found herself moving closer to the stage. She wanted to see these people. She wanted to recognize them again. Her father was in them and she wanted to see him in them. One woman who had been playing the piano raised her hand and spoke, "I went with him to buy those pink boots, Christine. Remember how happy you were?"

She smiled in shock, half way raising her hand to waive.

"You and I would sneak to the kitchen and eat candy corn when we worked together in Tallahassee." A man from the cellist section laughed after winking at her.

"I found you a bandage after you tripped at a pool at a resort at Myrtle Beach." An older woman said as she held her bass with one arm.

"I took lessons with your father while you were in Cincinnati." One of the first violins said, "He was the best teachers I ever had."

"You told me my piccolo broke your ears," a middle aged man laughed, "Later that year I broke the piccolo. Damn thing hurt my ears too."

Other voices joined in and she ended up not being able to hear all of them. Christine began to stare at them in shock, not knowing how to respond to any of the comments as so many of these memories had been locked away in her mind. She never thought that having so many others bring up her father would bring her the relief that it currently was. There was a tie that she felt with these people and she was compelled to walk forward until she was touching the stage and looking up to them.

"I think what we're trying to say here is," Stev quieted the group down a bit when he spoke, "Is that we miss him too. He affected all of us in one way or another and when he left, we missed you too."

"You were the only kid I ever liked. The only one I would put up with backstage!" A man yelled from percussion and made everyone laugh knowingly.

Stev sat down on the stage and smiled down to her, "You should have known you always had a family in this world. I heard some of his old band went looking for you after he died. They said they lost you to foster services."

"I…I didn't know they were looking," Christine choked out as the orchestra started to sit down and pack up.

"Well it's good to see you again." A second violin said as she cleaned her strings, "You've grown up to be even more beautiful than you were and that's saying something!"

As the musicians left, many of them came by to say hello, reintroducing themselves as they came. They shared stories with her on how they knew her father, how devastated they were to hear what happened to him, and how wonderful it was to meet her again. Some left their phone numbers and names for Facebook for her to reconnect with them. A few even gave her a hug.

Eventually, everyone had left. She looked around the empty auditorium wondering what she should do next. There had been no sign of Erik the entire night. Instead, she saw Meg walking down the aisle, a camera bag slung over her shoulder.

"Meg? What are you doing here?"

Meg beamed, "I was told to come here to get you ready for the next part."

"What?!"

Meg came close enough to her for a hug, "According to Underwood it was very easy to get my number. As a young reporter, I consider that a compliment."

"Wait, how much do you know about this?"

"Enough to skip work for the day to act as designer for your special night. Oh, and I've been taking pictures. Underwood wanted things to be well documented."

"Is he not here?"

"I don't know. What I do know is that I need to get you into your next dress. To the dressing rooms we go!"

* * *

 **One chapter left of Part One (coming this Sunday). I'd really love to hear your thoughts on this chapter and others especially as things are changing so quickly between our favorite couple (or...not couple?).**


	22. Chapter 22

**Thank you so much for your thoughts! I was having some issues properly fleshing out this chapter and hearing what you reviewers had to say really helped me to figure out what needed to be said. I *really* appreciate your thoughts!**

 **As reminder, this will be last of the ongoing weekly updates for a little while as this is the end of Part One! Thank you so much to those who have been with me for the last 21 weeks of straight posting! I really appreciate your support as I've been finding my inspiration on FF again. If you want to know when I'll update next (and I certainly hope you do!) follow this story before you click out of it!**

 **While I continue on Part Two, I may release a 10 chapter Leroux-based story in the meantime titled** ** _Madame Valerius Is Dead_. ****It will be *very* different from this one as I really want to stick true to original Leroux characters. I'll go ahead and say, it will be dark and rated M for mature relations. Where this story was more about starting with character development, this next story will be vastly plot heavy in comparison. Check it out at:** **s/11802208/1/Madame-Valerius-Is-Dead**

 **Want to see inspiration for these chapters? The Tumblr is up to date! To capitolintent dot tumblr dot com to check them out and learn more about Washington DC local spots :)**

 **I hope you enjoy :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Two**

Before long, Christine was looking at her reflection again in a body length dressing room mirror back stage of the Kennedy Center Opera House. This dress had an inner lining of high thread count cotton that was in the color of cream. Draped over the cotton was a material that reminded Christine of a high thread count of tole. When she moved, she saw the under layers of the dress and it reminded her of what crystal blue waves might be as they flowed over marble. Everything about it was gorgeous, and she loved how it fit her chest just right. over her shoulders were an array of lighter colored jewels that brought attention to her face.

Meg fixed her hair up a little more so that it would stay in the braided bun a bit better. She also redid her makeup with waterproof eye liner and mascara.

"I'm so glad you're not one for doing your own makeup." Meg said as she put some red lip stick on Christine's lips, "Otherwise, you would have had black goop all over your face. Still, I'm so jealous that you're a pretty cryer. When I cry my whole face turns red. It's so gross."

They looked at Christine's reflection in the mirror and Meg sighed, proud of her work.

"Damn girl, when I'm good, I'm good." She put a hand on her hip, "Shows how smart Underwood was for consulting me."

"I almost feel like you're working against me." Christine said with a high eye brow.

"Only because I want you to pay off my loans." Christine gave her an annoyed look, "Oh, and because he's paying me enough to cover my rent for three months. Nothing personal, chica. This girl has got to eat."

"Nice to know he's bought you over."

Meg hugged her waist from behind and they stared into the mirror together, "Only until he proves that money isn't enough to make my lady happy. C'mon, we need to get you to the limo. And yes, I will be riding with you this time. I'm nowhere near done with this high class treatment!"

Their next ride lasted less than twenty minutes. Meg refused to give any information about anything that she knew and so Christine gave up on asking for more details quickly. They sipped on wine together and Christine began to notice where they were as the bright lights of Chinatown began to beam through the tented windows. Earl slowed down and eventually lead them up the stairs of the National Portrait Gallery, making sure that no one from the busy sidewalk bothered them on their way up. Before going inside, Earl said politely, "I'll be waiting for you once you're done, ladies."

"Thanks Earl!" Meg waved and lead them inside.

The lights were dim for the evening and Christine began to wonder why the doors were unlocked without there being anyone around. They walked towards the elevators at Meg's lead.

"Come on, Chris."

Christine was looking all around her from the vacant desk, to the inactive metal detectors, to the emergency lights, "Where are we going?"

"The second floor."

Christine perked up at getting an answer, "Why?"

"We'll just have to find out, won't we?"

Like the first floor, the second floor was mostly dark besides Exit signs and other dim lights. In looking out, they both saw lights coming from the middle of the long hallway. They walked towards it and past works of art that were in the dark. Christine's heals making what sounded like a racket through the silence on the stone floor. She wanted to look around at the other paintings that lined the hallways, but as they were mostly dark, she kept her pace with Meg.

When reaching the room where the light was coming from, Christine looked around to see Van Gogh paintings around her. The most brightly lit painting was one of a blonde woman in blue that hung in the middle of the opposite wall. Drawn to the light, she went to it to study the young blonde girl who had a ribbon in her hair, her dress matching the the blue sky behind her. Her eyes, relaxed and looking somewhere beyond the frame.

"I'm supposed to tell you now," Meg began as she unzipped her camera bag, "But in all the excitement, I forgot to get my camera ready."

"Tell me what?" Christine asked, unable to draw her attention away from the painting.

"Hold on," Meg said through her teeth, "I need to turn the thing on and pop the lens cap off." Christine sighed impatiently as her friend hurried along, "I know, I know I'm the worst, hold on. Okay, okay, just look back at the painting again."

Christine followed the instructions and rolled her eyes. She placed her hands behind her and straightened her back and looked back to the camera just in time for it to click.

"No, no, no, you're killing me here. Loosen your hands and just look at it as you were, okay?"

Christine sighed and let her arms relax, this time, she settled for simply looking at the blues in the portrait.

"Okay, so Christine,"

 _Click_.

"Yes?" she looked back a Meg.

"No, no, just keep looking at the painting." She was holding the camera in front of her face, "I've got to get the right shot."

She sighed, "Fine."

"Now what do you think about this painting?"

"Um." Christine took another look, "It's blue."

"God you suck sometimes! Okay, it's blue, yes. What _else_ to you think about it?"

"It's pretty….?" she asked wondering if there was something specific she was supposed to be saying.

 _Click click_

"So," Meg pressed on, "do you like it then?"

"Yeah, it's really pretty." She laughed a little after looking at her dress again, "And we almost match."

 _Click_

"Good." Meg said strangely, "Because it's YOURS NOW!"

Christine must have made a big reaction because she heard plenty of quick _clicks_ as she turned her head to look at Meg. Her jaw must have been on the floor. Her eyes must have been so wide they were ready to pop out.

" _What_?!"

"Underwood told me to tell you that he bought it for you as a present. Along with the Hermes dresses, the diamonds, oh and he told me that he already owns most of the National Symphony Orchestra so if you want them, he'll give them to you too."

 _Click click click click click_

Christine raised her hands as if to somehow push the camera away, "Okay can you stop with the photos for a second?"

"Why?" Another photo was captured, "Your reactions are priceless and I'm being paid well to catch all of them."

"I need to sit down," Christine said, eventually making it to the floor as a seat once seeing no benches in that room. "Oh my god. This is… All of this has got to be my salary for a least a year, if not five already. How can someone this rich live in a two floor townhouse on Northeast? It doesn't make sense!"

Meg's eyebrow arched and she grinned, "Think how much he'll give you if you say yes."

She shook her head and buried her face in her hands, "Can you stop taking his side already?"

"Are you complaining?" She clicked a another photo, "Sorry, that reaction was for my personal collection of black mail."

"I just…" She let her head drop backwards as her words made their way to hit the ceiling, "Oh my god, my god! And he's not even here!"

Meg shrugged, "The night isn't over yet."

"I don't think I can handle anymore." Christine exclaimed holding her friend's hands tightly.

"Too bad!"

Meg made her way to pull Christine up off the floor. They stood, arm in arm, and looked at the portrait again.

"So, do I just take it with me or something?" Christine asked wearily, "I'm afraid to touch it. I mean, Van Gogh. Oh my god."

"Eh," Meg gave her friend a loving squeeze around the waist, "Maybe leave it and have someone transport it for you?"

"Yeah good idea." Her voice hollowed, "Oh my god a Van Gogh. He got me a Van Gogh."

"Don't forget an orchestra," Meg smiled.

"Oh god." Christine nearly feel back down, but Meg held her arm tight. "Who gets someone a Van Gogh?"

"A doting, lonely, and insanely rich congress member who is looking to get himself a wife, that's who!" Meg started to put the camera back into the bag and added, "We've got to keep you moving. I don't want to be the one responsible for getting you behind schedule."

"Can we have more wine in the car?" Christine asked desperately.

"You betcha."

The young blonde looked longingly back at the lit painting, "A Van Gogh. I have a Van Gogh."

Meg smiled wide, "And an orchestra."

XXII

Erik kept his eyes outside of the window. Before him was the whole of Washington and the sightline that spanned out past the Potomac and Anacostia rivers into Maryland and Virginia. It was well past sunset, but that wasn't the point. He enjoyed the city at night for more. It reminded him of how hard the people of it had to try to make it be perceived as beautiful. The Capitol and White House were easily witnessed as two of these will lit buildings. The Smithsonian Museums, Jefferson Memorials, and Chinatown lighting the rest. Otherwise, it was a quiet Monday night. Quiet everywhere, but his mind.

He chose not to witness her reactions before her, instead taking in what he could from the sidelines and having Barnes photograph the evening as it was wirelessly transferred to him through the linked camera she used. The photographs were mainly for Christine if she wanted to them later. His memory would not forget the look on her face when she heard her father's voice, or discovered she possessed a Van Gogh. Christine had a way of hiding so much in her and he was able to wordlessly emit from her being twice in less than an hour. Glorious was the word that came to his mind that he had issues shunning away. His hands twitched with anxiety at the thought of witnessing her reactions live before him.

The elevator behind him ringed twice and he turned to see Christine and Barnes exit. In seeing him, Christine looked down quickly as if…embarrassed? Was it his fault? Perhaps. She looked flawless in the light blue gown. Meg had done a proper job and he worried some expression of his might have given that away. He turned back towards he window and noted the sound of Barnes' foot steps going back into the elevator as the doors slide shut. Barnes had common sense. That was useful.

Erik fully turned from her, but could hear Christine slowly approach as her heals tapped the floor.

"So," she said to fill the silence, "The Washington Monument. I haven't gotten a chance to come up here. Not since they reopened it from the earthquake damage…I guess that's a while, then."

"You're welcome," he responded without emotion as he kept his eyes glued to the lights from the window.

Her response was slow, "Thanks."

There was a bit of a pause and she stepped a little closer to look out the window. He noticed a faint smell from her that had not resonated before. It reminded him of lavender, roses, and something else…Had Barnes fitted her with perfume as well? It was…pleasant.

"I have only seen this view during the daytime. It must have been fifteen years ago with Dad. Everything looks so different at night."

"These are my stars." He commented and noted the confused look she granted him, "You wanted me to show you something that had meaning with myself. This is it. They remind me where my place is in the world."

"What do you mean?"

"As much as I peer out at them, as much as find this artificial lighting appealing in its own way, I am not a part of it. I am above it and so are you. This is why are are good for one another, Christine. This is why our paths have crossed."

Her noticed her wringing her hands nervously and fought the urge to reach out and steady them. She was not making this any easier for him!

"I don't feel so much higher than them," she commented quietly.

"You contrive of things so one-way sometimes. Specifically, in your personal affairs." He turned to her and nearly faltered in his words once looking upon her again. She was not one to dawn such makeup outside of Barnes' assistance. Her eyes shined brighter than usual from the shadows and liners. Her cheeks kindly blushed and her lips were rather present. Erik shook his head and cleared his throat. He could not be distracted now! "Regardless of what you choose to see, this is me giving you what you asked. No red velvet cake, no caricature hearts, but something that has meaning to me. The view before you is it. It is my escape, if you will. And if the world ever thinks I've been lost, you'll find me here. You are in my view, Christine, but you stand here before me as an equal. I want you to be my equal. "

She shivered and looked back out the window, "Thank you for showing me, then."

A long pause followed. A long, uncomfortable, silent pause. Erik played with the ring box in his pocket, but there was something keeping him from pulling it out. Suddenly, he was feeling strange, if not sick. Something was wrong, but he couldn't place it. There she was, right where she was supposed to be. Everything was set and planned, but he was falling short. What if she said no? What if she ruined everything? Damn her for her ability to ruin everything so easily with one word!

Shaking his head he broke the silence, "There's something else I will show you." Christine stood where she was as if stunned, "Come, come, we must continue!"

Erik lead her back to the elevator, choosing not to grant her one glance as they made their way down, and took her out to the vehicle waiting for them without any words. They talked briefly in the limousine and sat directly across from each other. He snickered as he heard her perspective on how she couldn't accept the orchestra as it wasn't right to "own" people, how she had no idea what to do with a Van Gogh and figured it would be better left at the museum of everyone to enjoy, and that if he wanted to return the dresses and jewelry, she understood as they were too much money and she had nothing to wear them to.

"They're all yours now," he shrugged, "I'm not one to return things. If you want to keep them, fine. If you want to give them away, fine. Do what you want."

The expression she bestowed to him was one he found rather funny. He laughed for the first time that day and swore that she may have smiled, just a little, as well.

When they pulled up to the Library of Congress, Christine half smiled. As they drove under the front staircase towards the first floor entry he asked, "Was that a smile or further disbelief?"

"I'm glad you saw this building as signifiant next to all the other places you had me go to today."

"Of course, ironically enough, its the one building I hardly see any of congress visit anymore. After all, most of them are illiterate . Regardless, there is peace in not having them around here."

"I agree," she said smugly, "Please tell me you didn't buy this place as well?"

He did not resist the urge to joke with her, "I will if you want me to."

"No!" She shouted then calmed herself and repeated, "No, it's just fine being public."

As she was first exit, he noticed her wait a moment for him to join her outside of the car. He offered his elbow to her and straightened his shoulders. "We should be seen entering like this."

After giving him a look, she slowly placed her left hand in the crook of his arm. He smiled, she was finally going along with the evening rather than asking so many questions as she had tendency to do…at least for the present. Her hand was so thin, but with long fingers. Part of him wanted to have her take up the piano in addition to vocal lessons, but he decided to try and tackle one hurdle at a time when it came to the complexities of Christine.

They walked inside together and the sounds of voices echoed down the grand staircase as they made their way to the main foyer, bypassing the metal detectors. Everyone was in formal wear and holding glasses of champagne and wine in their hands. Their faces were the same as always, their smiles just as fake. Christine shank back a little when she saw how many people were before her and he unconsciously patted her hand to keep her with him. Erik kept her moving forward without any words even as her face screamed unanswered questions.

Once they were only a few stairs from the top, a wife of one of his congress members saw them and started to applaud. The sound attracted other smiling, curious faces and soon the entire building seemed to be filled with applause. He put on a smile as if it were an old hat that would always be too snug no matter how long it was worn. That was how smiling always felt against the mask. Christine tried to follow, but her look of confusion was too prevalent to miss.

"You may recognize half of them in time," he said closely to her ear, "I invited all of congress. They are here either from fear, respect, or a general lack of anything to do on a Monday evening. And the orchestra is here because the paperwork of your ownership over them has yet to be signed."

They continued to walk and the word, "Congratulations!" was repeated over and over as they made their way up the side stairs.

"Why are they…" she didn't finish and he noted the color draining from her face.

"They…" He cleared his throat, "think we're engaged."

"Oh…" She gasped, "Wait! _What_?"

Erik patted the hand that lay in the crook of his arm and smiled as his hissed the word, "I'll explain…just…in a moment."

Once at the top center of the second balcony, he addressed the group without any electronic amplification. People became quiet without him needing to ask. He smiled at the power. A few cameras clicked, otherwise the hall was deadly silent as if no one were in it at all. Christine appeared to struggle to keep her wits about her. The wine was finally moving to her head and she clung to Erik simply to gain her footing. At least that was in his favor. Erik held her firmly to him. Her attention flew back to him when his voice reached out over the hall.

"I want to thank everyone for joining us today. While you all know my face, or at least half of it," there was evident nervous laughter from the crowd, "This is my dearest and soon to be life companion, Christine Gallagher. To answer your questions, yes, we have been seeing each other in private for sometime now. However, after the passing of her former employer Raoul Peters, may he rest in peace, we have decided that life was too short to live in secret. Once again, I thank you all for joining us as we celebrate the rest of this evening. Enjoy!"

The quartet began to play and the music was met with applause. Erik made sure to find Richard Walker in the crowd and smile directly at him before leaving. The look of astonishment and pride was not lost to Erik. Before anyone could come up to them, Erik lead her up another flight of stairs and slipped behind the doors that led to the original Thomas Jefferson gallery. Letting Christine go, Erik quickly found a few lights with the help of a few Exit signs to guide his way. Now dimly lit, he saw fuming anger in Christine's eyes.

"How smart of you," she spit.

"Anyone with any observational skills could see your finger was bare." He looked around. They appeared to be in between exhibits at the time and so he walked straight to the back where the original books were. The circular shelves surrounded him and he liked the idea of her having to draw closer to him if they were to speak.

Christine's footsteps were not fair behind, "No one had a chance to look. No one could see from the top of the stairs. You tricked me!"

"That was not a trick." He kept walking down the rows of shelves that were covered in darkness, "It was a lie."

"They're the same thing!"

Having reached the center of the room, he stopped, "So says the non-politician."

She caught up to him, stopping him in his tracks, "Is all of this a game to you?"

There it was. There was hurt in her eyes. He had hurt her.

He felt his hands curling into fists, "It is not."

"Then _why_ would you do that?"

He turned to her. She stood in his shadow, pain in her eyes, but still looking like perfection right in front of him. He couldn't deny her beauty, whether he admitted attraction to it or not. There before her, he was speechless.

"Are you really denying me this choice?" she whispered, rage filling her shrill sound, "Politician or not, how can you live with yourself, with me in pictures, in everyone's memory as by your side when its all a lie?"

His next words were honest, "It doesn't have to be."

"Yes, it does!" She stuck her index finger out to his face, "You did this. You standing out there, saying I'm your-your "companion.' What a farce! I might as well be your slave! If I hear one more time from anyone that all of this is my _choice_ , I swear I'll go mad!" She turned around, her breath catching as she turned. He watched her shoulders moved up and down raggedly. Her words were hollow, "I don't want to live like this. I don't want the orchestra or the dresses or all those people. I just want… I just want to be someone who has some kind of control over their life. I want to be…anyone but me." She turned to him slowly, the tears on her face now shining in the lights behind them. "Can I go back to my drafty one bedroom basement apartment now? I want this, all of it, to just end."

Throughout her words, he found himself carefully monitoring his emotions. Despite how sad, how angry, how somewhat pathetic she was before him, he did not feel sympathy for her. No…what he was feeling was far different, far worse. His last forty-eight hours having been spent without rest, all of them on her, on planning this evening ran through his memories. Before this, the look of her terrified face in seeing him unmasked, then to her gentle smiles from evenings spent by the fire, her laughter, her face when she heard him play the violin…So much was before him when he saw her and he'd be damned if he was going to lose it from fear of her rejecting him!

"What more do you want?!" He roared and she stopped crying. He hadn't meant to startle her. It was that he could feel himself breaking and burning and he didn't know how to take it away, "I…I thought I did what you would have wanted. I reached out for a damn reporter - a breed of people I have _never_ trusted - because she was the only one I've ever seen you open up to. Can you imagine what it was like to do that? I let Ms. Barnes go shopping for you with my money to show you that she is still very much a part of your life even with me. Yes, I gave her the dress code, but that wasn't meant as some skin depth version of impressing you. I will not ask your forgiveness for having standards on how one is to attend the symphony nor do I wish to insult you by feeling certain that you had no formalwear in your possession other than the dress from the Arts Crusade which I felt you would not want to wear considering the anxiety of that night for you.

"I spoke with the orchestra, told them who you were, who your father was and they _wanted_ to help. Yes, there was pay in it, but I don't believe in slavery either. Within hours they came through in rehearsing the only recording I could find of your father's playing. I will not even get started on how difficult that was for me to obtain! The orchestra didn't know what had happened to you, I wanted to show you that unlike me, you could have a family _if_ you wanted one.

"Then, you asked for me to show you something that meant something to me and I did. I have never taken anyone up there at night as it is my place to think and spend time. It is a negotiation that I keep with the National Park Service that is between myself and two other people. The party was to announce us to everyone so that you wouldn't haven't to explain anything further to the press. While I knew you would not enjoy it, it had to be done. People need to know, they need to see you because without you, I am only a soulless politician.

"But Christine, _I did it all for you_. You were the entire point of all of this. And I lied, I lied and I know it. I lied because… Because I had planned on asking you at the monument, but I… Goddammit I couldn't. I realized that none of it would ever be enough for you. That you want love and someone who knows how to show that to you and I don't. I _never_ had a family while you grew up surrounded by your father and music that was meant to be shared with you. I never had friends to care what I looked like and dress me up as that reporter did for you this evening. Hell! The only way I ever seem to keep people near me is through bribes and fear tactics and here you are telling me that despite what I feel for you, despite my respect, my baffled emotions at you coming back for lessons after seeing my face, your smiles, your laughter, that despite all of this, I appear to be trapping you into the same constructs as everyone else! But no, no, I wanted to show you that you have a chance to live your dream and that I wasn't the end of the line for you. I thought that showing you my support of the life you wanted and have chosen would be enough, but it's not is it? I am not enough for you am I? And when you give me the sole expectation of an emotion I've never had or understood, I can see why!"

As his vision began to blacken with rage, Erik walked away from the side of the doorway into the gallery, not wanting to block her if she decided to leave. He had expected to hear the clicking of her heels heading far away from him forever, but there was nothing. Reaching for the small leather jewel box in his pocket, he retrieved it and looked it over. Taking the ring from inside it, he held it out to where she stood.

"It's yours whether you choose to accept it through an engagement to me or not."

He felt her fingers lightly brush his as she took the ring. A gasp fell from her lips.

"This…this was my mother's ring. It was my grandmother's too…" she whispered, "But how did you…?"

"I spoke with your longest guardian in Baltimore, Mrs. Valery. She was the one who pulled it from the safety deposit box you share. She was the closest person I could find who was a living relative and I spoke to ask for her approval after having spoken with Ms. Barnes."

"You spoke," he thought he heard her gulp, "With both of them?"

"Yes," he responded softly, "They are important to you and so they are also important to me."

The sound of ruffling rushing fabric made him turn to her. She sat on the marble floor, the blue dress pooling around her as she wrapped herself in her arms. Her appearance was that of exhaustion and she stared into the darkness as if lost. "You're right. Everything you said was right. I…I came here knowing that I would say no, but…but after everything. You're right. I wanted to tell you no because I thought that you could never care, but after everything, after seeing all the orchestra that I used to know, and having Meg there to help me laugh and…I love Van Gogh. God, who couldn't? I just...I don't know how to accept things like that. I started to rethink what I had planned to say. I did. And I was really worried about what I was going to say when we stood there looking out from the monument…but then you didn't ask and part of me even thought that you weren't going to, that maybe you had changed your mind. When we came here and people were acting like they knew so much when I didn't…"

The words came from him before he could stop them, "I'm sorry."

His words made her look up to him, her blue eyes shining wide with amazement.

"Then…" she blink backed her tears, "I'm sorry too."

Slowly, he made is way to sit not far from her on the floor. This was how they would speak as equals, how they learned one another from the power outage. At their eyes met, the air around them buzzed with the energy and he fought to hold his composure. Even as his fear was creeping up his spine in painful knots, he held on to whatever sanity he could find. Something, as odd as this all had been, something within him felt right when he could simply sit so close to her without any other distraction.

"You haven't known me long…" he started slowly, "I know you haven't…but if you…and I understand if you won't, I do. I don't deserve it, I know, but if tonight says anything. I'm not a shallow man or one that makes words without thought. When I say that I want you as a companion, it is all truth. Despite our short time together, you mean very much to me and I want you to stand with me as my equal, as my only equal." He took a breath and reached out to place his hand lightly over her hands that held the ring. She shuttered beneath him and he was sure to be undone. What was this strange connection that passed between them whenever they touched? She certainly felt it too, didn't she? He had to know, had to have her confirm with him that he would not be alone as he felt.

"My very dear Christine Gallagher," he asked humbly, "will you accept me to be yours?"

Such a sea of emotions ran through her eyes in that moment, as if all thoughts she ever had were now running like old moving pictures when turned. His breath stopped when she finally began to whisper hardly audible words.

"I…"

 **END OF PART ONE**

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 ***Author holds her hand to the level of her eyes from the readers* Honestly! I _was_ going to give an answer here, but having heard some feedback saying Erik needed to try harder, I'm now unsure of how to proceed. In my head, I know what I want to happen, but I want it to make _sense_ more.**

 **Weigh the consequences and cast your votes via review dear readers. Depending on the responses, I'll release a teaser Chapter 23 - Part Two when I have a headway!**


	23. Part One Epilogue Part Two Prologue

**YOUR reviews helped to inspire this segue. I post it in honor of season four of House Of Cards coming out on Netflix today :) :) :)**

 **I hope you like my playwrighting roots for this chapter!**

* * *

 **Part One Epilogue; Part Two Prologue**

Meg Barnes: And we are recording.

Erik Understood: Good. This recording is being made by Meg Barnes and is to be put into transcript by Douglas Nadir within twenty-four hours of the recording ending. The recording and transcript are to be shared between Barnes, Nadir, myself, Erik Underwood, and Christine Gallagher only. Barnes and Nadir are to serve as witnesses to the event of verbal contract. All members whether fundamentally involved or witnessing for documentation purposes are sworn to secrecy. This is agreed to by myself, Erik Underwood.

MB: Agreed, Meg Barnes.

Douglas Nadir: Agreed, Douglas Nadir.

(pause)

MB: Christine?

Christine Gallagher: Sorry! Yes, I…oh my god, what?

MB: Hon, do you agree?

CG: Oh. Yes, of course I already said that…I mean, um. Agreed, Christine Gallagher.

EU: Good. Moving forward. Gallagher, state your terms.

CG: Me first?

MB: Christine, isn't this what you wanted?

CG: Yeah, just, god this is all so formal.

DN: Should I make tea?

CG: Tea would be wonderful.

EU: Nadir needs to be present for this conversation. He cannot make tea.

MB: Um…Dr. Underwood, isn't this your kitchen?

EU: He will make a mess.

DN: Cool off, Doctor. I'm making tea.

CG: Thank you, Mr. Nadir.

DN: Call me Doug. That goes for you too, Erik.

EU: I feel it necessary to note for the record. this is being done out of the protection of Christine. Otherwise, I would not bother.

DN: I beg to differ.

EU: That's enough from you, Nadir. Christine?

CG: Yes?

EU: Terms.

CG: Right…Can we wait until after the tea is made?

EU: I don't have that time.

CG: Erik…

MB: I'll state some terms for Christine. Christine, say "agree" if you agree and "disagree" if you don't. Understood?

CG: Agreed?

EU: This is not how these things are done, Barnes.

MB: No, it's typically not. Most people see each other longer than two weeks before they get engaged.

EU: You will not repeat that again or so help me your career is over!

CG: Erik, please!

(Pause)

CG: You won't say it again, will you, Meg?

MB: Nope.

CG: And Erik? Erik!

EU: Yes, Ms. Gallagher?

CG: My first term is that you don't threaten Meg's career again.

EU: That has nothing to do with-

CG: That's my first term and everyone heard it. Right, Meg?

MB: Loud and clear.

CG: N- Doug, right?

EU: Nadir-

DN: Heard, for the record.

CG: Good. Moving on. Um. I…Meg, you were saying?

MB: Yes, Christine's terms. Second term is that Christine gets to choose the date of the wedding.

EU: When?

CG: I don't know.

EU: My first term is that I need to approve of the date.

MB: Then you only get three chances to reject it before it is passed by default.

EU: My second term is that the wedding date must be within the next twelve.

CG: Twelve?

EU: I'd prefer six.

CG: Oh my god.

MB: Eighteen months.

EU: Eighteen!

MB: That's practical and offers plenty of time to plan.

EU: Too long!

DN: Would sixteen months be a compromise? You would have until spring of 2018 to be married.

MB: Christine?

CG: Sixteen months…is fine, I guess. Agreed.

DN: Erik?

EU: Fine. We will be legally married by the end of April 2018. I consent to you picking any date between now and then.

MB: Good.

DN: Your tea, Christine.

CG: Thank you.

DN: For you, Meg.

MB: Sugar?

DN: Not at Erik's house. He's a rather bitter fellow.

EU: I will not apologize for keeping my health in check. Did you not make enough for four?

DN: I thought you did not approve of our tea together?

EU: Damn you, Nadir! Let's get this over with already. Christine, your next terms.

CG: Um…

MB: I'll help with that. Next term: Christine's marriage to you does not imply any sexual and/or relations without her verbal consent.

CG: (coughing)

(Pause)

DN: I'll…clean up that tea, Christine.

CG: I'm (cough) sorry I (cough) -

EU: Agreed.

(Pause)

MB: Good. Christine?

CG: Agreed.

(Pause)

EU: I have a term. I agree to pay for the entirety of the wedding.

CG: I mean…it doesn't have to be expensive. I can pay for something, too.

EU: This is my term. I will pay for it all. Agreed?

CG: Erik…

EU: Christine, you must be the only woman in your position to be so relentless in denying any assistance!

DN: And the only woman I've known to ever give you a chance.

EU: Shut it, Nadir! Christine do you agree, or don't you?

CG: Agreed.

EU: Good. Next term: no one is to know how atypical our relationship is. We are to appear normal for public functions.

MB: Define normal.

EU: As if…we were in love.

CG: I guess that would make sense…

EU: So?

CG: What do you want to do exactly?

EU: What normal people do.

MB: Like, hold hands, hug, kiss, that sort of thing?

EU: More or less.

CG: Hold hands and hugs are fine.

EU: Agreed.

CG: Agreed.

EU: Any other terms?

(Pause)

CG: You don't get to say you love me unless you mean it. Either private or public. No exceptions.

EU: Fine.

CG: Good. Um…Meg? Terms?

MB: Hm. You hurt my girl and she gets to break the bargain at any time she wants.

EU: I would never!

MB: Then agree.

EU: I will never physically hurt her. Ever.

MB: And emotionally.

EU: Amendment, then. If she doesn't let me know what I've done to hurt her so that I can explain myself, the term you've created is off.

MB: Christine?

CG: I think that's…fair enough. Agreed.

EU: Good. What else?

MB: Those are the main things I needed to say for you, Chris. Have anything else?

CG: Um…I get to choose what functions I have to go to as…as your fiancé. And your wife. And you have to explain them fully before I commit to them.

EU: I'll send you my itinerary for the Presidential Inauguration as soon as this is over. That is the only major event this year that it matters for you to be at. Will you agree to being there with me?

CG: I…But what if I don't look like, like what I'm supposed to? Next to Mrs. Walker and everyone…I don't have the clothes or anything like that.

EU: Barnes, take care of it.

MB: My pleasure!

CG: But I'm not asking for anymore things or money, really, I just don't know what I should look like-

MB: No one said anything about that. Pay for it yourself if you're so worried.

EU: And if you feel she is not spending what is necessary, contact me.

CG: Enough going behind my back, okay? New term-

MB: Denied. Anything else?

CG: Meg!

MB: Seriously Chris, anything else?

DN: I have one.

EU: Not up for you to make unwanted additions to this, Nadir.

MB: What?

DN: Christine may create amendments to these terms, as well as add further terms to this contract as she sees fit.

MB: So long as all four currently present are present for any changes.

EU: Fine. Would you like any changes to be logged as strictly as these have been? Or shall we get a lawyer as well.

CG: No, just the four of us is fine. Agreed.

EU: Agreed. Anything else you want to add against me, Nadir?

DN: I see no reason why this term cannot work both ways.

EU: Understood. Agreed. Christine?

CG: Agreed. I think…I think I'm okay now.

EU: Good. Then I have a final term. You have to wear the ring as a sign of our engagement. And you cannot be romantically involved with another else. For the sake of my image.

CG: Agreed.

EU: Then put it on.

CG: What?

EU: The ring, Christine! Must I spell this out for you?

CG: It's been a long day, okay! Lay off, Erik. I'm tired too.

EU: Don't forget I haven't slept in two days.

CG: Obviously.

(Pause)

DN: (laughing)

EU: What the hell is it?

DN: You two make some kind of couple, don't you? Am I the only one entertained here?

MB: (laughing) I'm entertained.

EU: This is maddening. You two are of no help. I need a drink. Are we finished, Christine?

(Pause)

DN: Is she…?

(Pause)

MB: Chris, hon?

CG: Oh god…I'm not asleep.

MB: Sure, honey. Let's get you home, okay?

EU: Wait.

MB: Yes, tyrant?

EU: I'm ignoring that comment Barnes. For the final record, Christine, you fully consent to all terms agreed upon?

CG: Yep, I do.

EU: I consent as well.

MB: Cool. I'm cutting this off now. My battery is nearly dead.

EU: Wait.

MB: What?

EU: Christine still isn't wearing the ring. She needs to wear the ring before this can end. She agreed.

(Pause)

CG: Ring on. Can I go home, now?

MB: Yep, let's go chica.

DN: Unless you need me Erik, I would like to offer to drive them home.

MB: That would be great, Doug. I'll be going back to Eastern Market with her. We good, Underwood?

EU: Yes.

MB: Good. Meg Barnes, signing - C'mon hon, stand up. Let's get you home. Are we taking the orange fuzz ball?

CG: No. Please, no.

EU: Roach is with him somewhere. They're fine.

CG: Thanks, Erik.

EU: Think nothing of it…Thank you, Christine. Goodnight.

CG: Goodnight, Erik.

MB: Okay kids, we're all set. Meg Barnes, signing off for real this time.


	24. PART TWO: Chapter 23

**Hello again! This year has been one heck of a ride and I haven't been on FF all summer. It was a real shocker to come to my Dox and see that all of my chapters were gone! I can't believe 90 days have passed!**

 **That said, I kept writing whenever I could. Part Two of this story will be different from Parts One and Three. For one, welcome to Christine's first person past tense narrative. I know there are those out there who really hate first person and while I don't blame you, I hope you don't give up on this story because of it. I had a lot of time to cover in Part Two, but couldn't afford the time it took to write it. The fact is, this is a transitionary time and our characters are slow to move. Good news is, Part Two is only 6 chapters long and I'll be updating weekly on the weekends as all chapters have already been written. Here's a taster and expect the next chapter in a few days :)**

* * *

 **PART TWO**

 **Chapter Twenty-Three**

My name is Christine Gallagher and I am to be the next first lady of the United States. I write to you from the main living quarters of Camp David. Erik and I were sent here as a security measure, even though, I've been told, the worst is over and perpetrators has been caught. I can't stop thinking about it…It's all so very awful…

It's nearing two in the morning. I'm not tired and I don't know why. It's been nearly two days since I've had any sleep. Erik is tied up in countless meetings and briefings for his new position. The last thing he did before leaving me was offering me this blank book. "You must have so many thoughts you're unwilling to share," he said. He's right. I do.

You must be wondering how I got to this place. What all has happened. When everything started…I believe I'll start with early January when I first made the decision to enter in engagement with Erik Underwood.

Perhaps I should start this out more formally.

Dear Diary,

The first weeks of my engagement with Erik, I recall thinking that if it weren't for my new found schedule, things would get really boring and lonely. That said, I liked it. I liked waking up a little later, jogging to Ebenezers, spending some relaxing time inside the pages of a book, then catching the D6 bus back to my basement apartment. I ate lunch, read the paper, took a nap or watched an episode of something on Netflix, practice my breathing exercises, study an Opera or another language, eat a light salad for dinner, then went to lessons. I was surprised at how much I really liked the new life. Even the running in the mornings. It was nice to feel the cold winter air on my face while listening to the sounds of the city as it wakes up. It was like I was a part of it, but a very small outside-looking-in kind of part.

Other than my "work" schedule having changed, I originally thought my life is overall the same. I lived in the same place, Meg is still my best friend, Simba stays with Roach so I still get my time alone. I still paid my rent and utilities…however, how that money magically ended up in my account was scary to see. Not to mention the extra ten thousand dollars that appeared. I never know what to do with the money. Does that sound weird? Doesn't everyone dream about what it's like to win the lottery and what they would do with the money? I know Meg does. My dad did. I just can't think about going out and splurging on something I don't need. So, the money sits there, not doing a thing but making my eyes bulge whenever I check my account.

My Van Gogh is still up in the Portrait Gallery. I went by and saw a little plaque next to it saying it had been kindly presented by its owner, me. I still can't believe that. I think it's better that it stays there. I'm pretty sure that painting is worth more than the entire house I live in, let alone my basement apartment. I think it's better that it stays in a place where it belongs. My new dresses are hanging up in my closet. I put them behind some other clothes so they won't pop out as much for how nice they are. The diamonds are hidden away in a pocket I sewed into my pillow…I thought that was smart. I don't know. I hope it was anyway.

Then there's the orchestra. Well, they're doing what they do. Some have emailed me. The conductor even called to say how good is was to see me. I've never been good with Facebook, but some have friend requested me and it was nice to see what they've been up to. A woman who plays the harp messaged and asked me out to coffee. I can't remember the last time I was so popular with anyone! Meg even asked me if she should be jealous!

You know…now that I've actually written all of this out, I guess things had already changed. But they were going to change anyway, right? With Raoul passing…well, I would have to change a lot anyway. Poor Raoul. Maybe I did love him, you know? Yes, I know I did. Even if it wasn't love-love. Jogging has helped me think a lot. Raoul will always hold a special time with him and I can't get that from anyone else and I guess he is now lost in my memories somewhere with my father. Raoul wanted to do good things, he just couldn't find a good example to look to. He told me early on how much he liked seeing Dad and me. He said he liked to see how a family was supposed to work. I never thought my family "worked" but it's nice to think that I was lucky to have what I had.

I guess you could say with this diary, I start a really new chapter. At the same time, I find that scary to think about. I used to love new things when I was traveling with Dad. Back then, I didn't have to worry about anything so new things were so exciting. Now that I've been taught that new things can be bad, I haven't wanted to try them so much. That said, since Erik had been officially announced as the next Vice President, I guess you could say that this new life change has been locked in for me. I mean, how much worse could it get, right? He's like, a bazillionare, he needs me to "look pretty" next to him for the next four years, and he's told me that besides music lessons, I won't have that much else to do. He said that the neck of the head didn't have to be dolled up, so I'm merely around if the worse should happen to the president. He's cynical like that. It's terrifying to think of what all has happened…

I guess with the announcement of the engagement, my quiet life was over. It's strange, before working in politics, I never kept up with who was who, especially when it came to who they were married to. Sure, I knew who was the First Lady was, but other than that, who cares right? Well, it's not that way in Washington. To be up to date on political life is a right of passage to stop looking like a fool. I remember being at a bar inside Union Station for the State Of The Union two years ago with Meg. I was new to the city then and I knew I was in a very different place when the bar became quiet and everyone watched and had something to say when the president started to speak. People from various walks of life gathered together that night and everyone had something to talk about. I never remembered it being such a deal elsewhere before that night.

That's…just an example. Anyway, so, future (at the time) President Richard Walker announced to the press that Erik Underwood would be swearing in as the next Vice President of the United States. Naturally, there was an uproar from every side. Did anyone expect any less? I have to say, I really felt for Phillip Tusk for a little bit. He was attacked for not being "man enough" to continue and how he should have been able to keep going for his country. How awful, huh? I mean, I know of people who take time off of work to better themselves. How is it any different for him? People can be so heartless when they don't think about the person on a TV screen being a human being just like them.

I noted that a few cameras had turned to me during the conference. Erik had formally announced our engagement through the party the night it happened. Naturally, everyone knew if they wanted to. The internet had been updated so it wasn't easy to hide…not like I've been trying to. I mean, god, I wish I could accurately put a description on the ring I'm wearing. I'm surprised I haven't had to hire a security guard for it it alone. I've taken to turning it around on my finger so that the diamond stays on the inside of my hand when I'm out and about. Of course, it couldn't just be one diamond. It had to be multiple diamonds, of different colors! There's a circle of yellow, blue, and green stones around one big fat chunk of metal-slicing rock in the center. Good grief could Erik have been any more bold?! And it's heavy. I feel like that should be noted. And people won't shut up about it whenever I have my hand out. I was so glad it was glove season when I first had it

Anyway, I remember that the day after the announcement, I took my daily run out to Ebenezer's thinking that other than showing up on national news along side a man I had pledged myself to after personally knowing him less than a month, that things will sort of go back to normal.

Wrong.

Oh so wrong.

Word had spread of my favorite coffee shop and when I went in to get my favorite pumpkin pie latte, I was hounded as soon as I got in the door. So many questions about how we met, who I was, what I thought, was I ready, were thrown my way. And of course, photos of my sweating disgusting self were now being taken. All I wanted was my latte. That's all I wanted, but lucky for me, it's like my plea could be heard by the manager on duty as he carefully made his way over to me with a large to-go cup in his hand. He yelled over the hubbub, "It's on the house, Christine!"

On my jog out the door, I was able to lose most of them. Oddly enough, when I looked up again, I was in front of the Capitol Building. Erik would be inside the House Building then. How stupid I would look if he caught me there. Running to him like I need him for…a lot of things….dammit. Looking down at the cup, it had receipt paper taped to it. On it was written, "Come to the back door tomorrow and we'll let you sit downstairs whenever you like. We'll keep an eye out, next time!"

At least I have some friends at my favorite coffee shop. I'll wear a scarf over my face from here on out. At least till it gets too hot.

After some weeks of hardly saying anything to me besides, "Stand up straight" and "That was the wrong note" Erik stopped the lesson in the middle of a song, looked up at me and asked, "Don't you care when the wedding is going to take place? Aren't you going to do anything to plan it? You have plenty of time for such things now."

To say I was shocked, was an understatement. I was…ready to fall over. It was as if he and Meg were on the same thought all the time. To be honest, it was annoying. She would ask me a question that I didn't want to answer, or something that I just didn't know, then she would ask again the next day, then the following day Erik would start asking. It was like they were teaming up against me for answers. Why should I have a reporter and a politician after me all the time? …maybe it's time to start spending more time with the orchestra. Then again, Erik "owns them" so I don't know how much longer that will last. He likes to ask who I go out to coffee with especially if it's a guy.

When Stev asked me out to dinner, clearly as a friendly thing, Erik insisted that he go and buy everything. He didn't say much during the dinner and Stev seemed a little awkward by it all. No feelings were hurt, I don't think. For the conversation that Stev and I did have, well, that was really good. I didn't think there would be other people for me to talk to my dad about other than Raoul, but I guess I was wrong. Surprisingly enough to me, it hurts less to talk about him the more that I do with other people. Everyone smiles when the say his name and the reaction has been contagious.

Erik said on the ride home from dinner that he likes to see me smile. I think I blushed a little, at least, my neck got really warm. I don't know. What are you supposed to say when someone says something like that? What's worse, was I could swear I heard him say, "I would like to make you smile that way," but when I looked back at him, his eyes were facing out the window. I…don't know what he meant by that.

Anyway, so Erik (and Meg) were dying to know what I wanted in a wedding. But, god, I didn't know. I still don't know! I guess other people have what they want in a wedding planned out by now…my childhood was filled with music and travel, meeting new people from all walks of life. I guess I never…no, no, that's a lie. When I was nine I had a Barbie, a Ken, and they had a chocolate lab with puppies. Naturally, I couldn't have them living together without a wedding so when I got Ken for my birthday, they got married that night. I guess that was pretty arranged. I didn't think of why two people got married except for the idea that they saw each other loved each other and that was it. My, how things have changed.

I told Erik that I didn't know what I wanted.

"I thought all women knew what they wanted! Why must you be so frustrating, Ms. Gallagher?"

I've started to notice that he calls me by my last name when I'm acting in a way he doesn't understand. I'm not sure if he's caught onto me knowing that yet.

"It's not like I've had so much time to think about it, Erik." I managed to spit back as I took a seat on the coach where Roach and Simba were. I guessed the lesson was over early. The cats never showed themselves until the music stopped. I don't think they like my voice that much. I guess that makes three of us out there. Roach once started meowing long and annoying when I was working arpeggios. Erik threw a book at him…Of course it didn't come anywhere close to actually hitting him, but he didn't meow anymore after that.

I remember Erik and I got into some kind of disagreement from there. He told me that planning the wedding was my job. I told him that the wedding itself was his idea so my inspiration was lacking. He reminded me he hadn't forced me to comply, that I chose and made the agreement in front of Meg and Doug. Back and forth back and forth.

He eventually responded with a new anger that I nearly found funny, "What's your favorite color, dammit?"

"Red, white, and fucking blue!" I yelled, throwing my hands into the air. The cats watched, entertained, "We're doing this for America, aren't we?"

"I'm hiring a wedding planner," he said dryly, "There is no hope for you."

"Make sure they're good! I won't be planning any of it."

"Undoubtably. Shut the door on your way out."

He never had to tell me twice.

I should mention that I'm now the owner of a 2017 Chevy Spark. Erik said that if it were up to him alone, I would have a foreign car, but since he now has the country watching his moves, it would look better if he had an American model. When I went to meet him, he was at the door, as usual, but this time he was holding a set of keys.

"That's yours," he said casually forcing the keys into my hands before I could say otherwise. Believe me, I tried to counter act this decision, I really did. I told him that if I wanted a car I could go get one with the mysterious bank of money showing up in my account, but he told me that he wasn't going to wait around for me to start spending money on necessities. Next, I said that I hadn't driven anything in years and pointed out that traffic in DC is some of the worst in the country. Eventually, after plenty of issues laid out, I kept the keys and walked inside. This was only after he admitted that most of the reason behind the car was so that I could get home safely at night. That was…really, it was a really nice thought. I never liked having to carry around mace and while I don't plan on using it that much, it won't hurt to have when the nights get late.

The car did come in handy on my way home at night. It's so tiny that I can virtually park anywhere. Maybe that was the point of all of this. It's an in-town card for a city where nothing makes sense. They may have well put a sticker on it saying "Washington Approved." I digress. I just, wow, to have a car again. There's a kind of freedom in that. I can go outside of the metro area anytime I want now. I forgot what that was like. I don't even know if I've ever had it before.

We ended up not having a music lesson the night I got the car. Instead, he and I sat in our humble floor seats by the fire and listened to selections by Eric Whitacar. It was peaceful enough. The next day was the inauguration, so naturally, things were a bit nerve wrecking. I was surprised that Erik wanted to meet at all, really. I figured he would want some time to himself before everything changed. Instead, he was very adamant in having me come over. Part of me thought that he would use the lessons as a distraction, then bark at how awful I was when I fell short, but he didn't do that.

He was quiet. Most of the time he stared out before him, his eyes focused on things I couldn't see. The music ended in time and I knew that it must have been close to midnight, but I wasn't tired and didn't feel the need to leave either. It was comfortable there even as I could feel his mind churning from three feet beyond me. With the corner of my eye, I could see the unmasked side of his face sit cold and serious. Part of me pitied him, though I would never admit to this. He has a handsome face. It's a shame for the other side, but still, people can look past that. Sure it is deformed…really deformed. I feel guilty for even admitting to it. We never talked about it after I accidentally saw it. I don't even know what he thinks about me for that. I'm afraid to bring it up to be honest.

Still, as I know there is so much more to him than just his face, I can't help but wonder, why me? Was it just because I was around? Did he have no other women in mind that he's had actual relations with? I'm not so amazing at showing appreciation for things that I don't exactly need and he's been giving me so much. Why would he give such things to me when I don't even know what to do with them or how to even say "thank you?"

There we sat, hardly three feet from one another. His cold eyes were so far away from where we actually were. It almost looked as if he were in pain. As I've said, I'm not very good at showing gratitude or knowing what to say in these kinds of things, but maybe with what I did, I said enough. I can't tell you what propelled me to do it. Maybe it was just something any normal human would do. See, he had left his hand out to be close to the fire. It just seemed like the right thing to do to put my hand on top for a few moments.

He looked at me and I thought he was angry, but his eyes quickly fell to my hand over his, then returned to my gaze after a few moments. This time, his eyes were softer, kinder even. I think I smiled when I saw him do the same with his stare. There was this time of calm understanding and it was comfortable to sit like that for the minutes that quickly passed. He eventually took his hand out from under mine, somewhat patted the top of my hand, and stood to look down to me, his mask glowing in the firelight.

Offering the same hand I had once held, I accepted his assistance in standing. We once again were holding the simple physical contact, this time, both of his hands were incasing mine. I don't know whether it was being closer to the fire or something else, but I could have sworn the temperature was higher. It's true about what they say about what happens when you hold eye contact with someone long enough. There's something you feel there… I can't really describe it, I'm no good at saying things like that…but I'd be lying to myself if I said that it didn't feel nice to be there with him.

* * *

 **Let me know if you're still out there! Hope you're still interested!**


	25. Chapter 24

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

Dear Diary,

I was then the fiancé of the Vice President of the United States Of America. I never thought my position would rise higher than that with what has happened…I can't imagine many people get to say that either way. Actually, has any body ever gotten to say they were a fiancé to a Vice President or a President? I might be the first one…I need to research that. I'll ask Meg instead. There may have been a news story already written up about it. For all the annoying ways reporters can be with gossip, they can be pretty helpful when it comes to history. Here's hoping they don't find out anything I don't want to comment on… Erik said he wouldn't throw me to the wolves. Still, I don't know how long they want to have me living under a rock…I'm not going to think about it.

I remember how very helpful Douglas Nadir was in telling me where to go and what to do. Meg was the one to pick out my outfit. It's a pine green wool dress with practical black heels, belt and lining. A matching coat is with it. I don't know what I would do if it weren't wool. It was freezing that day. Sometimes, it's just nice to follow. I'm sure I was never meant to be a leader of anything

Erik took his vow, which was far shorter than what I remember being for the President. The point of it is for him to uphold the Constitution, which I guess means the President and America. Funny, I imagine not many people are paying attention. I know I wasn't before being so involved. I'm kind of hoping that if people aren't really paying attention to the Vice President, they won't pay any attention to me. Then again…Erik is a hard person not to see when he wants to be seen.

We eventually are all herded up to the capitol steps by the secret service and I was placed next to the First Lady…or well, the First Lady then. She was…kind of terrifying in her own way. She didn't have much to say to me. Then again, I was too afraid to say anything to her either, but I don't think she wasn't speaking to me because of fear. Every now and then she would mumble, "smile." I followed her lead. I don't know how she knew whenever the cameras were on us, but she did like a sixth sense. I'm grateful for that. She hugged and kissed her husband when he stepped down as a military choir started to sing. I looked to my shoes, feeling a pang of guilt that that's what a wife, or soon-to-be-wife was supposed to do after such things. My eyes trailed up to Erik, who was now beside me. He didn't say anything until the song ended. He whispered into my ear and the feel of him so close, his warm breath on my neck as he spoke made shiver, "You're doing well. Keep smiling. That's all they want."

Like the dummy I was, the smile snapped back in place on my lips. There were so many people before us, enduring the cold wind with us as they held up their signs and cheered. I wonder what people think of me. Maybe they think that the arrangement is because of money and power. I guess that makes sense. I never want to see the video of this day. I must look so stupid next to a woman such as Marguerite Walker. Margot, is her nick name. What a name. Nothing like mine. Nothing like me.

I'm not so religious, especially after Dad died, but I swore that I would pray every night that nothing awful would happen to President Richard Walker. Whether it was for selfish reasons or not, I know I will never be someone like Margot. She is so strong and good at her job. It's like she was cut just for this. Panic was beginning to fill my head in odd jolts during the ceremony. Was it possible I was feeling the future or maybe just nervous in general? I hadn't noticed, but my arms had crossed over my body. In hindsight, I learned that no one did this no matter how cold they were, as it was seen as closed off. Margot turned her head to me, her facial expression showing the act of kindness, but her voice like venom, "Put your arms down, girl."

I could have jumped out of my skin, but before I did, Erik smoothly placed my hand into the crook of his arm, "Keep smiling. It's almost over." My mouth turned up to follow instruction, but it never hit my eyes. Every time the crowd cheered, I wanted to run. Every time the music played too loudly, I was ready to pass out. I'm a behind-the-lines kind of person. Oh god, what was Erik thinking? I must have looked so dumb up there.

But it was over soon and I was being herded out once more.

There was a brief meeting of congress that Erik had to attend. All traditional sorts of things. I was lucky enough to get to wait in a side room with the President's family. He had two daughters and two grandchildren. They were all so happy and excited and scurried around the matriarch as Richard Walker was away. The children were young, one was hardly three. She scampered over to me, smiling with crooked teeth and asked me why I was so scared looking. Yep, I wanted to die. This was awful. I shouldn't have signed up for it.

However, when I didn't answer, she took my hand and said, "It's okay, Gram Gram says that since you're so pretty, they might not have noticed."

"Thanks?" I stumbled out, as I looked up at Margot who was not wasting any more glances on me.

The girl, told me she would walk me into the luncheon because she knew she looked happy and according to her logic, if she could look so happy next to me, maybe I wouldn't look so bad. I wasn't in the mood to be fighting, even with a three year old. For the rest of the time in that room, I was told an entire series worth of My Little Pony tales. At least it filled the time.

Erik came in with Walker to escort us to lunch. How was I supposed to eat in front of so many people? Seeing that I wasn't alone anymore, the girl scampered back to her family. Erik didn't have much to say. He asked me how I was doing. I asked him if he wanted the truth…he answered by offering his arm to me again and we walked out and towards Statuary Hall.

I remember seeing Statuary Hall on a tour I had taken the first time I had come to Washington. The tour guide told us a ghost story about how the statues danced with each other every New Years to celebrate another year of the union. Besides those statues, the room was hardly recognizable as it was now filled with tables for lunch, the largest table was at the front and elevated. Of course…we had to sit there. This time, instead of being next to the First Lady, I was next to the President on my left and Erik on my right. Walker isn't as threatening to me as his wife. He smiles more and is kinder to me…maybe he's just better at hiding his real opinions.

The lunch itself, besides sitting and staring out at rows of other people below me, was uneventful. Erik chatted with Walker occasionally. They both wore smiles, even though Erik's seemed more to me like smirk. He never smiled much, so it maybe the way his face falls. I don't know. I kept my lips turned up and nodded along, nothing much to say.

Next was the parade. Walking and waving would be easy enough, right? My feet said otherwise. I thought those chunky heels would be more practical than they turned out to be. Of course Margot was sporting flats. She thought this thing out. I had not. What's wrong with me? My hand hurt too. Stupid complaining, I know. Who wouldn't want a parade in their honor, right? Well, not mine per se, but still. Fame and me…we're not good pals. The girl (I failed to mention her name was Amanda, or, Mandy more of) stuck with me for the parade. She even took my hand and swung it back and forth as she skipped around, basking in the attention. That made a funny picture that I don't want to see again. I think I'll retire to a hole from now on.

The parade finally ended at the White House and we were herded inside of it, but not before taking another million photos waving in front of it. Wow…I must sound so ungrateful. I really don't mean to be, really. Just…I didn't feel like me. I'm not good at being overly happy and waving to others and baby sitting three year olds. At least…I don't think I am. Maybe that's the whole problem. I don't think I'm good at any of this so it doesn't help to pretend otherwise. I don't know…I wish I were. I wish I could be a leader and help people…I can only think of what people are saying about me since then and everything that has happened…

Once inside the White House, sometime in the later afternoon, Erik and I were taken up to the presidential suite with the family. From there we were given cocktails and finger foods. Erik left with Walker to do…president things, I guess. Mandy told me all about her classmates in pre-school. She didn't like it very much when I kept trying to reply to Meg's text messages. Meg was being screened to come inside to help me get ready for the ball that night…other things I was already terrified of. My dress and things had already arrived, but I wasn't sure where they were and if someone was going to take me there. Nadir was off with Erik so I couldn't ask him either.

Once it was evening and the sun had set, Erik came back and took me out of the room. I wanted to sleep. Doesn't Mandy have to nap? Why did I have to listen to her for two hours when we both should have been asleep? Meg was brining me a Five-Hour Energy. She's is a godsend. Erik took me to a room to change and get ready for the evening. He said that Meg would be arriving shortly. Before he left I asked tentatively, "Am I…doing okay?"

He turned back and answered confidently, "Far better than you think you are, Christine."

Before he left I questioned again, "Erik?"

"Yes?"

"Are we…do we have to dance tonight?"

"We would draw more attention to us if we did not."

"Oh…"

He walked back over to me and took my hand in his as he had the previous night, "Do not worry. You are doing very well." I tried to smile but my face hurt so I ended up sighing. He squeezed my hand a little, "I feel the need to keep watching you. I'm afraid of losing my fiancé to the public."

"What do you mean?"

He told me that I was the top trending name on Twitter and asked if I had an account. I told him Meg had forced me to make one half a year ago and I never used it. He suggested I take a look, whereas I told him I didn't want to know what people were thinking of me. I was sure they were saying terrible things…But Erik was reassuring, "You're adored, Christine. You needn't fret."

When he left I finally got a chance to download Twitter to my phone to see that I had gained over fifty thousand followers! What do I do with all those people? They don't even know me! I wouldn't have even gotten the account if Meg hadn't set it up for me. I began to read what people were saying. In my long hours trying to avoid much more terrifying thoughts than fame, I actually dug some up for these pages:

 _ChirstineGallagher is the cutest thing! #inagaurationday2017_

 _#inagaurationday2017 ChirstineGallagher during the parade with the president's granddaughter. After my heart!_

 _ChristineGallagher is so stylish! I was nice to see something other than black today - can't wait to see her at the ball #inagaurationday2017_

 _Can't remember the last time I saw someone so beautiful surrounded by politicians ChristineGallagher_

 _#VP's woman is rocking some heels during the #inagaurationparade ChristineGallagher betta werk!_

Those were surprising enough…but it were the other ones that made my stomach sink.

 _ChristineGallagher & #ErikUnderwood are the cutest! _

_She may be young, but ChristineGallagher & #VP #ErikUnderwood have such a tasteful relationship._

 _ChristineGallagher hooking arms with #VP during #inagaurationday2017 when she was cold #soadorable #love_

 _When she's not looking terrified, ChirstineGallagher has the most genuine smile up there! #inagaurationday2017_

 _ChristineGallagher always smiles the biggest when she looks at #VicePresident #ErikUnderwood_

 _I can see why #ErikUnderwood is in #love ChristineGallagher #adorable_

I didn't get to read too many more before Meg barreled in. She joked about being my best friend first and how it was helping her new blog to claim me. I told her I didn't know what to think about everything on Twitter and she told me it wasn't just Twitter. It was everywhere. Facebook. Instagram. Tumblr. Buzzfeed. Cosmopolitan. Every gossip column was, well, gossiping and all about me.

"People are in love." she had said, "You're almost stealing the show from Walker. I'm so proud of you chica." She hugged me.

"But why?" I asked, "I don't know what I'm doing, my feet hurt so bad I can hardly walk straight, and I've been terrified all day."

"That's the point, pretty lady! People love you because they can relate to you. You're like, the commoner Kate Middleton next to royalty. Everyone's eating it up. And it does help that you looking effing amazing. You should hire me to dress you full time."

"I might have to."

Meg buzzed on and on as she helped me into my gown. The gown is made of satin and the blue of it is so faint that in the wrong light, the dress could be taken as white. The design of the gown pulled in at my waist, but swept up and almost bunched at my bodice. It then fanned out around my legs. I was given pearls to wear around my neck, ears, and wrist, as the gown was sleeveless. Meg did a great job of curling my hair, then pinning it neatly on top of my head. My shoes were my go-to nude pair. I didn't want to know how much Erik had paid for this. He was nice enough to not only get Meg a ticket into the ball, but to also get her a dress too. Her's was pine green, with one sleeve that fit her bust and waist exactly then fanned out to the floor. It was simpler than mine, but still very beautiful. She fitted her hair up into a collection of braids into a bun on top of her head. I don't know what I would do if it weren't for her fixing all of these things for me. I know I would look like a mess going to all these things.

Fortunately, the ball was really all about the president and first lady. For most of it, I sat and watched as others danced. Meg was sitting at my table along with Nadir and who else but Phillip Tusk! I guess it was to show others that everything was fine and that things would keep moving forward.

Meg was as much by me at the table as she was on the dance floor. Of course she was flawless as she danced. She always knew how to make others look good and was asked out over and over again by people from all over the political spectrum. She kept telling them that she was my only living relative, a cousin twice removed or something like that. They took the bait, and she is sure to have some interesting stories to write down the next day. Not long after things had started, the press had been removed which gave her a step way up in the game.

I'll admit, I may have had one glass too many of the champagne. It wasn't that I had had so much, it was that I was so exhausted. Erik, while speaking with others, and introducing me to people I had only seen on television, didn't seem to have his eyes on me and how much I had in my system. I guess you could say it surprised him when I accepted his invitation to dance so easily…However, once I was actually on the dance floor, I realized what was happening and froze. Looking around, everyone seemed to know what they were doing. The only times I had danced with anyone was on my dad's toes.

"I don't know how to do this." I managed to say.

He laughed, "I suppose that means there are two of us here who are one cotillion short of these figures."

"Exactly." I pulled at the arm that I held, "Erik, maybe…maybe we should sit back down."

As he had done earlier that day, he pulled me close and spoke softly into my ear, "One dance and we'll leave. Your fans have been waiting on this. We can't let them down, can we?"

His voice made me shiver again. What was it about him that could make me react like that?

"What if I…what if…"

As he placed an arm around my waist, I caught and held it instinctually. His other hand reached for mine and held it up to our sides. The movement was enough to silence me. Just when I thought we were close enough, he pulled me a little closer so that our chests touched. Suddenly, dancing was so intimate. How did I not notice this before? How did I not see how close two people could get and still be considered appropriate to society?

"Erik I…I don't know if I…"

I could hear music starting somewhere beyond us. It was the orchestra. My orchestra betraying me with pretty dance music. Looking around quickly from corner to corner trying to find an exit, but when he spoke, my eyes met his once more.

"I will not let you fall. Ever."

His words were so… _sincere_. I found so much meaning in my heart all in that moment and I almost wanted to cry. Everything that day had been so stressful. I was confused most of the time and it was all for him. That's right…it was all for him when I think about it. Once again, I find myself asking why I would do so much for him. What do I really owe him other than warmth during a power outage and minor improvement on a voice I never wanted to hear again. I guess that's just it…he knows that the fancy things aren't what I need. He has to, even if he keeps buying me more things for events like this.

I guess when I think about it, he was around when I probably shouldn't have been alone. He said it was for the investment, but he walked through all that snow to my house when Raoul passed. And while I could have figured out how to get to Meg's apartment the day of the snow storm, I never thought that I would actually enjoy the time I spent next to the fire that week. Maybe it's some kind of sensory memory, but as we started to sway lightly to the slow tempo of the music, my hand in his, my other resting in the crook of his arm. I remembered our lack of distance the night he took me outside to see all the stars over the city. I know I was nowhere close to sober that night, but I seem to recall his hands holding my arms when I lost my balance on the snow.

Maybe somewhere, Erik does care for me. I know that a lot of everything that day was duty, but he can be really nice when he thinks he needs to be. The night before, when we held each others hands, that was nice. This afternoon when it happened again, I got the same kind of warmth. It was…comforting. When reviewing all of the strange circumstances between us, comfort is a strange thought, but that's what it feels like.

When the song ended he went so far as to lean forward and kiss the top of my head. He's taller than me, so, I guess that would make sense, but still, it caught me off guard. I felt part of the weight of his head as he wrapped the arm around my back closer to him and said quietly, "You are the only thing of real beauty for me today."

Of course I didn't know what to say! Was he only saying this for a camera somewhere? To convince the world that we were a real couple and getting married over real feelings? I couldn't think long enough to get angry as I was still in a state of shock. He pulled away from me and took my hands in his, "I will take you home. You have done so well, Christine."

He took both Meg and myself back to my apartment and dropped us off without much to say. Meg was quick to fall asleep once out of her dress and makeup. Even as my body was ready to give out that night, I remember being up until the sun started to peek through the row houses of my street. I couldn't seem to stop thinking about everything about…him. I felt really stupid. I'm part of his political gain…right? It must be helpful to his image that I was trending and still do on occasion. I keep having to ask Meg to translate social media lingo for me as things progress. God I don't know what I'd do without her. She snapped a picture of when Erik and I were dancing. I let her release it via Twitter and Instagram. I couldn't imagine it would hurt. She showed me the picture. I guess we fooled everyone that night. We really did look like we were in love.

Still, it meant a lot, if nothing else, that I received a text from Erik not so long after he had left with the simple words, "Thank you."

* * *

 **Hello again! To my 7 reviewers from the last chapter: THANK YOU for welcoming me back! The rest of you 600+ viewers from the last 2 days sure can be quiet...helpful FF has stats (that's if I'm reading it correctly)...that was cool to see nonetheless. Hope you don't hate me too much for going first person. Only temporary - I promise!**

 **I did as much research as I could for this chapter. It's true, the VP kind of falls to the wayside on election day. If anyone has any particular critiques on this, please let me know!**

 **To those asking about my other in-progress story, _Madame Valerius Is Dead_ : 1) Thanks for reading and asking! 2) Still working on it...had more of this story written first so I went ahead and posted.**


	26. Chapter 25

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

Dear Diary

I didn't mention this before. Meg works as my aid. It's a part time position, but after seeing the contract that Erik had drawn up, I get the feeling that if she wanted to work for me full time and write on the side, she could get by just fine. Other than basically being paid to do the things that she's already been doing (i.e. putting me in matching clothing, putting society paint on my face, etc) she's also took over my Twitter. Apparently that's what important people do. They have people talk for them…or something. This is all very confusing.

The second tweet that (supposedly) I put out since getting the account was something like, "I can't believe so many people started following me! Thank you so much for your kindness!" The third tweet which came not long after, "#inagaurationday2017 was one of the best days of my life. So excited for the future!"

Basically… and this was discussed between Erik, Nadir, Meg, and myself, my role in all of this is to be of the people. Apparently, I can make a good role model after all. My life is boring, I've done nothing, and I'm a woman. I guess that makes me a safe bet? It was almost comical to see Erik and Meg hash out contract terms. Sure, I could keep up just fine, but to see my sweet friend go up against a man like Erik without flinching was respectable to say the least. She's got tough skin. Otherwise, she wouldn't be where she is.

This all came about after Meg woke me up too early on Saturday to scream that I had a Buzzfeed article out. I'll include what it said and try to describe the GIFs on it.

 **21 Reasons Why Christine Gallagher Was The Best Thing About Inauguration Day**

1) "She smiles every time the First Lady speaks to her" - This was the third time Mrs. Walker had grabbed my attention to remind me to smile…I guess I was getting better at it by then.

2) "The fantastic green dress she wore" - Thank god for Meg.

3) "She's camera shy - adorable!" - I saw my face on the monitor and put my hand up to cover part of my face…Mrs. Walker disapproved, but they didn't show that.

4) "Her smile when she hooks arm with the Vice President after getting cold" - I…don't remember smiling…but there it was in a picture.

5) "Her clear dislike of the salad" - It was a bleu cheese salad…Not my favorite. I wish there wasn't an image of me making a face like that.

6) "Her clear love of the main course" - who didn't love the main course? It was only the salad that was gross. I couldn't have been the only one who didn't like that salad!

7) "Her faces during the luncheon between Underwood and Walker" - Erik casually had told Walker that he had closed a trade deal with India that was some insanely high number. In front of me! What was I supposed to look like? Ugh…the photo they have of me is my eyes getting bigger and bigger…

8) "We can only wish we knew what she was hearing at this moment" - Why did they have to stop the GIF and blow up my face like that…? Oh my eyes are so big….

9) "Rocking heels during the parade" - they failed to mention me having to walk sideways…how kind…

10) "Befriending a skipping three year old granddaughter of the President"- that picture I didn't want to see… but I guess it doesn't look as bad as I thought it would. We're both smiling and holding hands.

11) "Her bashful waiving" - Erik had eventually told me to straighten my arm to waive so that more people could see me…before then I guess my hand was not far from my chest and looked like the picture they had, my fingers waving more than my hand was.

12) "She's not afraid to walk alone" - That was when I trailed off from the center by accident because my feet hurt. Security didn't like that, but the crowd got really loud and I remember there being loads of pictures taken.

13) "…but usually prefers walking next to Underwood" - After a guard mentioned I should get back to the center for security, I all but ran back to Erik and he offered his arm to me again. It was warmer that close to him so naturally it made me smile. I always figure that between the two of us, people will look at him. I don't know. Maybe not after all this hubbub.

14) "How red her cheeks were when she was introduced to the Ball" - God _why_ do I have to be so pale? It's so easy to see my blush at anything!

15) "THAT DRESS" - Again, thanks Meg.

16) "The way she fully shakes hands with people" - Dad always said to have a strong handshake…I thought it always helped me working on the hill but me shaking hands with the President of France made it look like I just sold a cheap couch.

17) "Her laughing with her best friend" - I…actually like this one. It shows Meg whispering to me and I laugh. I don't remember what she said, but I think that's what we look like most of the time. It makes me happy. It makes me feel normal.

18) "Underwood leading her to dance and she looks terrified" - They really hit that nail on the head, didn't they? The picture is of him leading me to the dance floor and me looking like I'm trying to run straight out of Washington.

19) "Underwood and Christine dance and it's so adorbs" - If that's what they deem as adorable..okay? Me looking terrified and him with that smug smile on his lips.

20) "That kiss! So perfect" - I noticed that was a picture Meg had uploaded onto her Instagram. Who knew a kiss on the head would have everyone freaking out? I mean, I guess it's nice enough. Still…ugh. I don't know. I've always been bothered by seeing people kiss on pictures. It just seems like something private to me.

21) "Basically, we love you Christine." - a picture of me laughing during the parade.

Another article came out today titled "Why Christine Gallagher is the American Kate Middleton." That I don't agree with. I mean, Kate Middleton is so refined and knows how to act and wave and be a queen. Me? Well, clearly I fall miles short. No, a few centuries short. Meg got my permission to tweet thank you's to the writers of both articles to which one responded with, _ChristineGallagher you're the best!_ and _OMG ChristineGallagher we love you!_ Meg said she would be keeping watch for more articles. She said that it was a part of her job now.

Erik said everything was working out well. He said he figured I might be of some interest, but that this was far more than he thought it would be. Meg is supposed to be keeping my image clean and polite and all. Everyone agreed that I was something good for everyone to see and that people liked me because I had flaws that a good person would be able to relate to. Meg said later that I was a "fame virgin" and that "everyone wanted to be me."

Me? I was just hoping all of that would blow over by the end of the week. There's got to be something more exciting than me embarrassing myself….oh I was wrong there too…

Did I mention that Erik is an evil cruel being? As much as I hate to admit it, he knew just how to torture me when I didn't give him what he wanted. His justification for all of this is that it is all for the American people that things play out the way that they need to as an example. I guess I'm just too small minded to understand what's so wrong with going to the court house and signing some legal documents. This is all for show, right? No need to go crazy, right?

This woman's name is Ethel Lumour, but she insists on being called Etsy. Seriously, why? How does that make any sense? Yes, I know I'm being rude and judgmental. This experience with her planning the wedding though. UGH! So, Etsy comes over to my house after lunch on afternoon. I had invited Meg over for lunch and she had agreed to stay. the day had already started off differently since Erik had us move the voice lesson up to the morning so that he could be flying by afternoon. He was in Alaska creating a deal with Native Americans to ensure they get their land and fishing areas even as a few oil companies had already started illegal rigs…it was a good reason that he went. I've always wanted to go to Alaska. I didn't have the heart telling him that…it just, seemed weird. When Nadir came to pick him up for the airport, Erik and I sort of just stood there at his front door awkwardly looking at each other. He'd be back in three days. It's nothing crazy, really. I don't know.

Anyway, Meg and I had gotten lunch at Far East Tacos & Grille and walked back to my place with our bagged food. I don't know how I would have managed Etsy if it hadn't been for great food. Erik had told me that morning she would be arriving at two, so I managed to clean up the place. It was the smug look of disgust that she wore when I first saw her that told me that this was a mistake. Her bleached blonde hair was falling over her shoulders, makeup smothered perfected over each part of her tanned face, most particularly her eyes that were small in reality, but blown up with the shadows of makeup she had around them. Her coat was pink and her legs were long and elevated by heeled boots.

Okay, once again, I'm being mean. She clearly spent a lot of time getting ready every morning and she is actually very pretty. A blonde bombshell, type (so long as she keeps the makeup on and doesn't skip her gym time…or fall slack on her plastic surgery… OKAY I know I'm being mean, but her boobs could NOT have been real). Anyway, I let her in and she's looking around the place as if it were a dump. Should I mention that I pay $1,200 for a one-bedroom basement apartment in a relatively safe area of DC? That's actually a good price! Hardly a dump!

Etsy comes in, is hesitant to sit on any of my furniture, but eventually pulls out her pink Dell laptop and starts to show us slide shows of her previous wedding plans. She hints at Meg leaving and I forwardly link arms with my friend and say that as my maid of honor I insisted she stay. There was obvious judgement on this, but Etsy let it be with a shrug. Meg and I smiled as politely as we could as we see all different types of sorority girls get married off to their fraternity boys at the country clubs. Everything was to the nines expensive, all of the beauty looked fake, and there was so much effing pink everywhere. Honestly, I thought it was going to hurt my eyes if I didn't look away.

"Now, as I've planned weddings of all shapes and sizes, I do believe that a minimum of one hundred should be set," Etsy stated as she closed the slide show and began to take notes.

"One hundred dollars?" I had asked, clearly confused, "I figured it could be more than that."

I saw an eye brow cock over one of Etsy's eyes, "One Hundred _Thousand_ Dollars."

"Oh! Right…"

"Underwood will be paying for this, correct? He paid for this consultation."

"Well…I would need to talk to him…."

"Lucky for you, I already have." She cut in, "He said you haven't been so forward in your decision making, but clearly, it's worse than I thought. Poor girl, you don't even have your colors picked out yet, do you?"

The look on her face made my neck grow hot with anger. Why was everyone on my case about this? Why did I have to plan so much? Erik never mentioned that my life in the office would then turn into my life planning a wedding! Fortunately, Meg was right there to pick up where I couldn't fill in myself.

"Her colors are red, write, and blue." Meg said spitefully, "Isn't that what you said you told Erik?"

I nodded and rolled my eyes.

"How…patriotic." Etsy answered slowly.

"Well it's not everyone someone marries the Vice President, is it?"

"How right you are. We'll just have to be sure that the colors align with the season you pick… Winter?"

Her suggestion made me think of the long cold trek I made during the inauguration parade and I could swear I felt my feet prick from invisible needles.

"Spring," I said quickly, "When the Cherry Blossoms are blooming."

"A popular time to pick, but for good reason. Wouldn't you rather your colors be a spring shade? A pink maybe?"

Without hesitation, Meg and I immidately barked, "No."

I remember Erik said he wouldn't be around his phone until two in the morning my time that night. He must have planned that. There was really no other excuse. He could have picked anyone, but he had to pick Etsy to make up my mind. She insisted that I needed special attention for my indecisiveness and required that if I didn't plan a meeting with her the next week that she would have Erik plan it for us as he had this time. God I can only imagine what her rate is for a consultation! Why would Erik pay this kind of money?!

He would pick the only girl around here who doesn't know what they want in a wedding…oh god what in the world was he thinking in me?

Dear Diary,

Meg thought it would be a good idea to interview both Erik and me on how things were going at the time. She said it was her idea, but Erik sure was on board for it as soon as he got back from Alaska. Of course we have talked on the phone some while he was away, but I still wanted to talk to him about this Etsy situation before it got worse. She won't stop emailing me all these ideas she has and I HATE every single last one of them! If she's good for one thing in my life, it's to show me everything I don't want to do!

Erik had both Meg and myself come over before he gave me a singing lesson. We all went to the den and I really got the feeling that that particular room was only ever used for such business situations. The future looks untouched and everything is so specific to a casual, but straight-backed meeting. The modern black, grey, and silver furniture and wall hangings are so different from the study. I found myself preferring the study and the comfort of the fire very much during the interview.

You know…it's funny. Even though Erik was sure to keep calling me every day while he was away, it was still sort of different seeing him for the first time after three days. I mean, keep in mind, we had been seeing each other every day since at the Kennedy Center Crusade so I guess such a feeling is normal right? You get used someone, then you don't see them and things are different, then you see them again and things are the same again but… Okay, I'm rambling. I need to stop rambling.

Meg decided to record the interview so that she could take still frames for a few photos once it was done. She set up lighting with Erik and myself both sitting in a complacent couch that had been pulled away from the window for a better back drop of the doorway that lead into the kitchen. As I watched my friend work, I found myself impressed by how much time and energy it must have taken for her to learn not only how to report a good story, but also to set up what it took to make a good camera shoot as well.

That said…as soon as she started the interview, I felt like my friend had gone somewhere else and a stranger was before me with a camera behind her. Suddenly, I was feeling so bad about myself all over again. How did Erik expect me to live up to these things? There he sat, cold and professional as always and there I was with my arms crossed and looking every which way but where the camera was. Erik, despite his manners couldn't possibly have been enjoying this anymore than I was, but he was so used to such things…

I actually got the transcript from here and decided to put it in here to fill time. I've added some descriptions too. Hm. Maybe I should have been a writer? Hahaha no…

"Okay kids," Meg started out, "Let's do some warm up questions. Oh, um, Chris, can you maybe not cross your arms like that? Great, thanks. So, this article will be the public's first real sneak peak into what makes you two work together. With the camera running throughout, we're hopefully going to get three…maybe more like one shot of you two fooling America into being in love. Ready?"

Gosh Meg sure does know how to be blunt when she wants to be. I'd hate to see the embarrassed scowl that crossed my face at that moment.

"So! What will your wedding colors be?"

"Why does everyone care so much about that?" I grumbled.

"It's supposed to be an easy warm up question, Christine."

I crossed my arms, "Red, white, and blue. Yay."

"Miss Barnes," Erik interjected flatly, "Do you happen to have any personal connections with the theatre community? Perhaps it's time I invested in lessons for Christine."

"I think I still know a few people," Meg piped in before I could answer.

Things were going terribly.

"I have enough lessons as it is," I spit back feeling that I had nothing to look forward to with the lesson following the interview. "Meg how about you ask Erik a warm up question."

"I'm not the one America is so in love with, Christine," Erik sneered.

"Meg?" I begged.

"Good suggestion," she nodded and flipped to the next page on her pen pad, "V.P. Underwood, what is one word you thought of the first time you saw Christine?"

Without a beat Erik answered, "Intrigued."

I'm sure he was _intrigued_. Meg asked me the same question to which I responded, "Confusion."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm guessing you mean the first time I saw him in person, right? Okay, so there I am. It had been one of the worst nights of my life because it was supposed to be a good one, but then, well, it wasn't. I had embarrassed myself and ran away. Then I looked up and there he was wanting to have casual conversation as if nothing earth shatteringly terrible had just happened and as if he didn't know how awful it was. So, I was confused… Is that a good answer?"

"Great answer! And Dr. Underwood, why do you say 'intrigued?'"

"For the same reason I'm intrigued now." He spoke so smoothly! "Christine makes the evening sound as if it were so terrible, but without it having happened the way it had, I never would have reached out to her. I saw something within her that I wanted to see again, more importantly, that I wanted her to see again, so I followed her."

"And what did you see?"

"Perfection." I looked over at him, but he continued, "Do not let her fool her. She knows what I see in her. She simply doesn't believe it."

"No one's perfect," I mumbled.

He looked at me now, "As they probably shouldn't be when they seem themselves. However, might it be possible for someone to be perfect for someone else?"

I looked at him for a long time, wondering how anyone could act so well. My eyes got caught in his for longer than I meant them too and I turned away and stood. "This was a bad idea. I'm really bad at this. What's there to say anyway? We haven't been _anything_ for long at all!"

Before I walked away, my wrist was caught by a hand far larger than Meg's. When I turned back, my eyes were once again caught in his slightly mismatched pair. His hand softly fell from my wrist to my hand and held it for a moment before saying softly, "Remember Artemis?"

My mind had to search for a moment before I nodded my head. My memory had been so fuzzy that cold night, but our conversation had been so much easier than it ever had been. Suddenly, I was bashful right there in front of him, Meg, and that damn camera. I shifted like a little kid who had been caught doing something they weren't sure was wrong or not to do.

"All those stars," I replied quietly looking down to our hands.

He didn't have to say it. He simply pulled a little on my hand and I was sitting back down beside him. This time, he had not let go and covered my one hand in both of his. Once again, bashful me couldn't contain my blush. I know this because this very picture of me embarrassing myself showed up in the article!

"The first night of the power outage was the first night I truly had her away from everything else." Erik started to speak so well, "Many times she would come here in the early evenings for dinner."

"Who cooks?"

"I do, but nothing impressive. However, when Christine wants something else, we usually go for Chinese. You see, she was over that evening and I had to light a fire. Every night up until then, she would go home, but when the power went out, she decided to stay since I had natural heat."

"Beautifully innocent," Meg commented wistfully.

"No less," Erik nodded, "As the storm cleared, we went outside and with all the power being out, there were stars. We were the only ones on the street that night, which is very different, as we wanted to keep the arrangement a secret."

"And why did you keep the relationship a secret?"

"Christine is a very self-made woman. We have become successful in our own ways and we didn't want to threaten each others careers on the Hill. It's not a very common thing to be seeing someone in another congressman's office. While it's not taboo, it can be hard to explain."

"And who is Artemis?"

"Gender aside, I am, but only to Christine's Orion. She is destined to be one of the most impressive stars in the sky, I've been with her to see it happen."

"Anything you have to add Christine?"

I looked at Meg in shock for a moment. I had almost forgotten she was there somehow. That sounds really stupid, I know, but it's true. Erik has a way of speaking so eloquently. It makes me wonder if he was there to witness the truth or not. I remember being drunk and wondering outside and he's talking about something so lovely and romantic. How am I ever to keep up?

"Um…well, it was really thoughtful for Erik to take me outside. I hadn't seen the stars in a really long time. I've been working so much this year there hasn't been a lot of time or money for any kind of vacation. You forget there's so much out there when you can't always see it in front of you. I know some people are afraid of what might be out there, but I think it's a comfort to know we can all share the universe together in that way."

The interview eventually ended. Meg seemed satisfied with what she got and packed up. On the way out, she gave me a hug and whispered in my ear, "You almost fooled _me_ , chica." A look of shock stained my face as I watched her leave in the Lyft car.

"That ought to hold the public for a little while." Erik said from behind me, cold as ever before, "How convenient that you befriended a trustworthy journalist."

After that, it was back to lessons as usual. Me believing that I suck, him to stop believing that I don't suck, and us hardly seeing eye to eye on anything. As tiring as that is, knowing that this will not change was an off putting comfort.

* * *

 **A bit of a choppy chapter, but as I said, I'm trying to find ways to move this time along. I'm glad some of you commented on enjoying the social media aspect of things for Christine. This chapter showed more of that, but is the last one to have something so blatant for that. Had to give a shout out to Far East Taco's & Grill. Oh, how I miss that place! **

**Thanks again for welcoming me back into posting this story. Your thoughts and feedback have made me so happy throughout this stressful week!**


	27. Chapter 26

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

Dear Diary,

Included is the article Meg wrote:

 _A Fireside Chat With Our New Favorite Couple_

 _Wednesday February 1st, 2017_

 _By Meg Barnes_

 _When you come upon a modest two story corner townhouse on the Northeast side of Washington DC, besides the new CIA team surveying the area (which is not so obvious to see), there is no out of the ordinary tales to give away that Vice President Erik Underwood lives within it. You could easily say the same thing when one sees him sitting beside his new fiancé, Christine Gallagher. While the house appears to have relatively new furniture within it, when I sit across from the couple, I feel very much at home with old friends. Unlike other millionaires that would rank in Underwood's status, he appears to have taken to having few items of great worth within his home rather than wanting to show off his wealth to the world. The same can be said for his relationship with Christine._

 _It is well known to locals that those of highest status in Washington tend to keep to their Northwest corners, mingling in places like Georgetown, Bethesda, and kept away in well hidden houses looking over their yachts on the Potomac. Occasionally, you will find the up and coming congressman or woman residing in Capitol Hill or even Eastern Market, but to find one so far to the east is exceptional. This is where Underwood finds comfort - among the middle class, many of which are of immigrant or minority status of the capitol. He says it feels far more normal to him than having to keep up with his own class of people and has no intention of moving so long as he can help it. Christine, while not only coming from a humble background, has worked very hard to have a middle class life in the same neighborhood of Washington (little did they realize that!). However, despite her smaller percentage of wealth next to his, all the wealth that could be possessed can be seen in the light of Underwood's eyes when he looks at her._

 _Known for his shrewd politics and ability to play poker with congress, it's amazing to imagine that both men could be one in the same within Erik Underwood. When he is within his home, he is courteous and relaxed and I felt myself a welcome guest rather than someone sharing a room with one of the most powerful people in the nation. Christine must feel the same as she easily made her way in and out of the room to make us tea as the interview progressed._

 _When asked how they met, Christine immidately shakes her head only to have Underwood chuckle. While I won't bring up just what embarrassment had brought them together, Erik sees it all as a kind of blessing to have happened._

 _"Christine makes the evening sound as if it were so terrible," Underwood comments having seen his fiancé wince at the memory, "but without it having happened the way it had, I never would have reached out to her. I saw something within her that I wanted to see again, more importantly, that I wanted her to see again, so I followed her….Do not let her fool her. She knows what I see in her. She simply doesn't believe it."_

 _Upon further questioning, just what he saw within her was "Perfection." Her reaction? A charming blush that the country has already become accustomed to after seeing it during the inauguration ball when asked to dance._

 _Their relationship, having only been in the spotlight since the announcement of his Vice Presidency, has not gone without scrutiny. Even the Speaker of the House said in a side comment that Underwood wouldn't have made the cut as an "ugly old single man." Other people have criticized them for their age difference and income inequality. When I brought such topics up to the couple Underwood laughed saying, "No one would ever care if I had stayed in the House! With scandals happenings with other workers keeping woman on the side while their away from their wives in Washington, I'm happy to report that Christine was the only woman I've ever been interested in!"_

 _When I asked Christine the same question she shrugged saying, "It's hard to know if you've found the right person or not, especially under thirty….Maybe that's just me. I don't know. I didn't expect to be engaged before then, but people can say what they want. I try to only listen to things that really matter. What I mean is, I'm not very interested in gossip. I have nothing against people who get married early, but I guess you could say I'm glad Erik didn't."_

 _When asked what their main commonality is, both of them answered immediately: Music. Little known to the public, Underwood is a composer and musician and is also a main benefactor to The National Symphony Orchestra. Christine, having grown up in a musical family, was quick to relate to him on that front from the beginning. As a joke, during the night of their engagement, Underwood told her that if she would agree that he would give her the orchestra as a gift. That, along with a Van Gogh painting that is still in exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery. She said that she has decided that the best thing to do with both gifts is to keep sharing them with the public. "I couldn't fit the orchestra in my apartment anyway."_

 _Christine hasn't made too many plans for the wedding yet. She said she wasn't expected things to be happening so soon with their relationship. They both expressed contentment with the way things were prior to engagement, but once things had been set for Underwood's new position, he said he couldn't see himself making it for the next four years without her by his side. Unlike many modern couples, they are choosing to wait until legally married to live with one another. Underwood says that she should always have an escape from his world if she needs it and Christine seemed adamant to keep her current apartment for this exact case._

 _"Many things are going to change," Underwood commented as he sipped his tea, "But I will not force her to change her life. Only she can do that. I have chosen her as my life companion and she makes the continuous choice to let me be hers."_

I guess it was one photo in particular that accompanied the article that shocked me the most. Erik and I sat on the couch together, my hand between both of his. My face…I was laughing. And I actually looked happy, like really happy. He was smiling too. When he looked at me, his mask was almost completely hidden. We looked…normal. It's not like he looks ancient next to me and I'm not so much of a child when I have some makeup on to help. There we were looking like an actual couple. It was stunning. As in, I'm stunned looking at it. Maybe we're better at fooling people than I thought…but that would make Erik and Meg right. God forbid I ever let them know that.

Sometime later after a very stressful coffee outing with Etsy, I went for a walk. She insisted we meet at a Starbucks only a few blocks away from Capitol. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against Starbucks, but if I'm going to spend so much money on a coffee, I'd much rather go to one of the small local coffee shops. That's one thing about Washington that I really love. Outside of Chinatown, there aren't too many chains everywhere and far more snug original places to find around town. I digress….

Very unfortunate for me, Meg is in New York covering another story this week so I had to handle Etsy all on my own. I hate all of her stupid ideas. I hate her never ending chatter about love and happily ever afters. And so much pink. God, why so much pink? It practically blinds me. Three excruciating hours went by and I don't even know if anything had even gotten done. We talked about locations and dresses. She said she would have to call Erik's security team to discuss different places. All of the dress catalogs she brought made me want to gag. None of them looked tasteful.

When I left I decided to take a walk towards the museums. It's the perfect time to visit my own town when most tourists would never come. The museums are actually quiet and I can read and look at things for however long I want to without screaming children running by or being bumped by careless onlookers. I crossed the street early and walked by the Library of Congress and a thought came to me, Do people get married in there? I've always loved that building more than any others I had seen in Washington and I knew Erik liked it or he wouldn't have brought me there for the engagement party. I thought to text Etsy but decided against it because I didn't want to listen to her talk for one more second.

Sighing, I crossed the street and wound up in front of the Capitol. A couple, hardly mid twenties passed quickly in front of me hugging their coats to them. A second after they passed, the woman turned and yelped, pointing at me. I looked behind me only to hear, "Oh my god it's her! That's Christine Gallagher! Look honey, it's Christine!"

The couple turned to me with big smiles on their faces. I tried to return their excitement as best I could as the woman asked for a photo. I obliged and smiled as kindly as I could. The girl then told me that Erik and I were the reason they decided to get engaged and I nearly let a gust of wind knock me right into the street behind us. I asked her to explain.

"We've been dating for long time, but when I thought about what Underwood said about not wanting to waste time and how he knew that he had to be with you. Oh my god, I just, I told my honey here that he was right. That we shouldn't waste time either and well, here's my ring!"

I looked down as she took her glove off to show me her diamond ring. She nearly made a move to pull my hand out from my pocket to see mine, but I decided against it, not wanting to draw any more attention to myself, especially as I know that even in the cold pick pockets will stick to tourist areas. I awkwardly wished her a good day and that she had a good time with in Washington. She nodded and skipped away. I swore I heard her tell her fiancé that I was just as humble in person as she read I was on Buzzfeed.

On my way past the capitol where the guards stand at vehicle gates, I noticed black SUVs exiting from near the House of Representatives building. I checked the time and noted that they must have let out early for that day. An SUV stopped before leaving the gate and I heard my name. Looking towards the car skeptically, I made my approach. The back window lowered and I made out the outline of the man inside.

"Ms. Gallagher, right?"

I gulped, "Mr. Speaker,"

He stuck his hand out of the window and I shook it. The gasp was limp and almost slimy, "A pleasure to meet you. I'm sorry we did not get formal introductions during inauguration day."

My mind flipped towards that day when Erik told me to stay away from this man as he had a tendency to "destroy smiles with his idiocy and ears too big to serve their purpose."

"It was a busy day," I commented as evenly as I could.

He laughed and the sound was sour, "I see why Underwood likes you. You're the sweet pretty side he never had. Always wanting what he can't have, that one. Tell me what did he have to toss you through to get you to say yes? It's a bit strange that someone as fine as you would really love him enough to marry a monster."

I stepped back from the car, horrified at The Speaker's boldness. Footsteps were heard behind me and I turned to see Erik making his way towards me, a trail of frustrated body guards behind him.

"Mr. Speaker," he spoke coldly as he nudged his way between myself and the car.

"Mr. Vice President," he said through his teeth.

"I hardly see it necessary for you to take out your failure today on my fiancé. Develop some decorum and stop holding up the line. I'd much rather catch a picture of you trying to pick up young ladies in the Southeast side of town. Christine," he held his elbow out to me and I took it without thought as he lead me to his vehicle a few cars behind. Before us, I noticed Nadir move to the front seat so that Erik and I could take the back.

"I was walking to the American Indian Museum when he stopped me," I muttered once inside.

"Excellent idea. Khan, Darius, how about we have an early dinner at the restaurant there? I'd love to get the low lying tastes of that imbecile Speaker out of my mouth."

I later found out that the dispute was over a bill in favor of expanding mental health programs for veterans. Erik had managed to collect enough Democrat, Republican, and GOP votes to pass it even though he was no longer the party whip. Erik had smiled as he said this and stated that he always new he was far more useful to Walker in the cabinet than elsewhere.

Dear Diary,

In February, Erik was very explicit in telling me not to expect anything for Valentine's Day. I wasn't going to anyway. He was the one to bring it up. Well, no, Meg was the first one to bring it up. I wonder if she had started to nag him about it. Really, I wasn't expecting anything and hadn't gotten him anything either. Valentine's Day always seemed really dumb to me, just another way for consumerism to get the best of people. However, with Erik's sudden rise in status and over a third of America now following my lame Twitter account, Valentine's Day suddenly became quite a thing.

I can't believe people - people I don't even know - started to ask me what Erik had planned! Meg was quick to come over to my apartment to tell me this and was glued to her phone most of the time she was with me. She kept asking me for a statement which ended up being something like, "Whatever is going to happen, it's going to be a surprise to me!"

The rest of the day lagged on and people started to respond that they were excited for me. Is that what being famous is like? Strangers wishing me well only because they're nosey? I knew Erik was having a busy day yelling at the House Speaker about…something. The night before the fourteenth, Erik was in the worst mood when I showed up for my lesson. He outright snapped at me when I told him I hadn't gotten any further with planning the wedding.

"I'm trying to keep the top one percent of the top one percent in the world from turning this country into an office oligarchy and you can't event figure out how to pick a dress!" He spat at me from across the Study.

In response I turned cold and told him I'd be happy to help him with his problems in exchange for him planning the wedding that _he_ wanted. I'm sure I heard him whisper, "How I wish you could." The rest of the lesson was relatively uneventful. He's moved me onto singing simple ballads and musical numbers at the piano in the den. Every now and then I catch him smile when I follow through with singing correctly. I'd be lying if I said that his genuine smiling didn't have a positive affect on me.

For this evening, just as I was about to walk out of my door to drive to Erik's house, I was stopped by his chauffeur and security head Darius. Darius has always been a quiet man, but he enjoys making silly jokes when given the chance. He is on the tall side, lean, and despite his pale complexion had jet black hair and thick eye brows. I followed him to the SUV and accepted his opening and closing the door for me as I climbed in.

It didn't take long for us to reach the Washington Monument. I stepped out of the car on my own and stared up at the tallest structure in D.C.. Erik was up there. And he wanted me up there with him during the time that would usually be devoted to his lesson. After a quiet elevator ride to the top, I found him in the same place I had the last time we were both up here. I took my place next to him as we both stared out onto the city lights and into Virginia.

He told me he had brought me up there to apologize for his trite behavior, how he refused to back down to the G.O.P. and the Speaker on many things, and how he didn't like that seeping into the time we shared. I had noticed out lessons being a clipped one exact hour for a few weeks, but I never said anything about it. I just figured that he did have a lot of things going on and so long as he didn't take them out on me, I could live. My needs are met and all I need to do is sing for them. Not many people can say that. I'm not sure if I'm as happy as I've ever been, but I do know I'm less worried than I have been in the past.

A long box was pulled out of his pocket and he handed it to me. I opened it to find a string of baby pink pearls with matching earrings. Naturally, I was ready to tell him I couldn't accept it considering everything else he was giving me, but I was met with a hand. "For one night," he said, "I would like to stand and watch the stars I relate to in quiet without having to be alone. You will not sing tonight, but my gift is for standing with me. Happy Valentine's Day."

And so we stood in silence, mere inches away from each other, staring out tiny rectangular windows and over looking the city we were never ready to return to.

In March, Erik told me that he would be leaving in three weeks to tour the countries of North Africa followed by a few smaller counties in the Middle East. He told me that he would be gone until June and that our lessons would need to continue via video chat. The times I would be called would change according to his schedule and the time zone, but it's not like I have so much to do anyway. He told me to have the wedding planned by the time he returned and that he would be checking in with Meg to be sure I was holding up what was now to be my job.

I expected that he would have to leave to do things that the President could not. I also figured that it wouldn't look appropriate to other conservative countries for me to go with him. He had mentioned me traveling with him before, but that was to happen after we were legally married. What was unexpected was when he asked me to reside in his home while he was away! Before I could retort, he explained himself. He pointed out that his house has laundry facilities, a spare bedroom, books, a generator, a fireplace, and that the cats would need to be taken care of, especially as Simba was a bit young to be hunting outside on his own.

Okay, when he put it that way, I painfully admitted that staying at his place sounded a lot more appealing than my cold basement. Besides, he never said I would have to stay once he got back or that I would have to give up my lease. He just asked me to stay while he was away. I mean, I always liked his house (except for the fact that he's in it). I told him I would think on it, but he didn't seem to like that answer at all. Before I left, he pressed a warm brass key into the palm of my hand and asked me not to "think so much."

The morning Erik left for Morocco. Those three weeks had definitely had their ups and downs as far as Erik and I were concerned. For one thing, he started asking me over to dinner about a week and a half prior to his leave. He doesn't cook himself as he doesn't have time to, but he always managed to get spectacular catering from different places around the city. I tried to turn him down after three straight nights of dinner and he looked insulted, but then, he looked so very sad. I didn't really know what to say….but I did reconsider.

During dinner he'd ask me light questions about my life growing up. Sometimes it was actually nice to be able to talk about Dad. I still get emails and messages from different people in the orchestra and it's been a nice way to warm up to thinking about him again. A few times I asked Erik how things were on the Hill, but his answers were always short, telling me to read Politico if I wanted to know and that he didn't come home to work on "filth." He later told me that it was the President's idea to send him abroad, that he was stirring up too much mayhem with the G.O.P. Politico had already published an article calling Erik "too loud for the democrats, but not loud enough for republicans." Erik often referred to republicans as deaf. It might as well have been a motto.

Over the month he supplied me with tickets to events at the surrounding theatres. Some were plays and musicals, but most were concerts. While he was away I had at least one show to attend a week, many times I have three. He wanted to hear all about them within a day of my seeing them. To be honest, I was actually kind of excited. All of the big Equity house theatre's were on the list, of course the National Orchestra and Opera were represented, some traveling musicians at the Kennedy Center and National Theatre, plus a few smaller shows from theatre's I had never heard of. What was even better is that I had two tickets to each event so Meg could come and keep me company.

After the lesson had ended on the night before he left, he packed up his violin and whispered just loud enough for me to hear, "You have been doing much better, Christine." I watched him as he packed up his violin. Strange as it seemed to me, he had been using the violin to accompany me as we moved on to simple folk songs and lullabies. He said that it is his instrument of choice to begin with and that the more I could become accustomed to the sound of a live violin, the better it would be for me mentally. What's worse was…I think he was right. Most people are not as deeply affected by an instrument as I can be.

Midway through packing up he looked up at me and asked, "I suppose three months is a long time for us when taking apart when considering that we have only been speaking about four at this point."

I nodded and slowly readied myself to leave. It was still cold and I had to bundle up before leaving. He casually asked me how the heat was at my apartment. I told him it was fine. I knew he was trying to convince me to stay at his house. At that point, I had agreed pet sit, but I told him that staying the night continually would feel odd.

"Do you remember?" he started then cleared his throat, "Do you remember how you once asked how I could be kinder to you at night than during the day?" I nodded and he continued, "You can be kinder too. I know you don't really like me, believe me, no one really likes me, but you can be kind. That's more than what others have offered me."

His words were strange, they even sounded strange and completely unlike him. I waited for him to tell me what he meant by all of it. He told me he was preparing his political "battle armor" for the next three months, that he was being sent to do the job that the Secretary Of State couldn't buck up to do herself. Not to mention Erik not making the transition of power easy in congress as he wasn't one to back down on anything when many members weren't working to compromise in the first place…

He spoke again, "Will you offer me another evening of kindness, Christine? I understand that it is unfit for me to ask, but it would mean a great deal to me before I go into diplomacy Hell for three months straight."

I smiled sympathetically. It wasn't as if I had so much to do the following day. In response, I asked him he had had white wine instead of red. He nodded quickly and returned with the wine even faster. I was very happy with his selection. That is to say that I stayed and I was once again surprised at how hours could pass so quickly when the two of us took our old positions sitting opposite of the fire place. Sometimes it can be so easy to speak with him about things. He always has another question following another and he is keen to ask me about stories that I never thought I'd be happy about recounting after Dad died. We laugh together sometimes. He has a nice sounding laugh.

The sun wasn't yet peeking over the tops of the buildings when Erik's phone rang. It was Darius saying he'd be there to pick him up in half an hour. We both rose from the floor, the quilt he had offered me still wrapped around my shoulders. He said he had to pull his luggage from down stairs and I waited by the window. Once everything was ready at the door, he crossed back over to me and stood only inches behind me. The last time we stood like this without a camera there to capture it was the night the power was out and we were looking up at stars.

"Will you still marry me?" he asked quietly.

The question surprised me a little and a half-heartedly laughed. He kept silent and I realized he was expecting an honest answer. I mumbled back, "I guess so. It's not like I have so much else going on."

"But you could if you wanted to. I am certain…but will you share that life with me when it comes?" I looked back at him and noticed how serious - if not a little fearful - looking he was. His belief in me seemed endless and I felt heat rising in my cheeks at the thought. He took my left hand in both of his, rubbing the engagement ring softly, "You could have a very different life if you really wanted. You do not seem keen on making any serious plans for our wedding. Can I still expect you to follow through?"

The sound of a car pulling up to the curb and stopping was heard. We both looked back to see Darius getting out of the SUV. Erik tugged my hand a little harder, "Christine, please, don't let me go without-"

"Yes," I said, a smile tugging on my lips, "I'll be here when you get back. And yes, I'll still marry you."

Do you ever wonder what would happen if you had only a few seconds more in time? What I mean is…I can't help but wonder what Erik would have done if the door bell hadn't rung exactly when it did. I wonder what Erik's real emotion was behind his eyes when I answered his question. I especially wonder what his intention was when moving his head closer to mine. There was… something there. I think there was. But…but I can't say anything to be sure.

With a squeeze of my hand and a faint smile, he left for Morocco.

* * *

 **A little late this week. Saturday snuck up on me and the weekend was so packed that today's turned out to be my first day to sit down. Thanks for those reviewers/favorites out there. You make me smile :)**


	28. Chapter 27

**Chapter Twenty - Seven**

Dear Diary

During those three months, I felt busier not having an official occupation that has a normal nine-to-six (and working as an aid does not count as normal…that job is more like eight-to-eleven). Maybe it's because I didn't feel busy? Every day was different from the last except for my meals and exercise. I met up with different people from the orchestra for coffee and we talked about years past. Other times I would see a show Erik got me tickets for. Sometimes I even get days where I could just visit museums and relax. Sometimes the weather warmed up just enough for me to sit on a bench in a park in the sun and. It was nice. It was easy.

Meg was still handling my Twitter (thank god). She gave updates on random things I do that I never really thought would matter to anyone else. People keep responding saying how much they loved how "normal" I was and that they felt I was just like "one of them." Every now and then someone will say something mean. I got pretty caught up on one that said something like, " _ChritineGallagher u freeloader. U open ur legs and get a fortune. Ur not like us._ "

I remember going to the person's page. It was a plain looking thirty-some year old white male with a short hair cut. He was over weight, wearing a white wife-beater and thin sunglasses to cover a smug look on his face. Meg was with me when I saw it. It had popped up right as she was reviewing what was going on with me. I got so angry. I can't remember the last time I was so angry. I called him some bad things, yelled, then sobbed. Meg told me nice things, that no one cared, that he was a "big ugly loser" and took the phone out of my hands before I could respond and tell him that Erik and I were not sleeping with each other!

Meg said it would be better to leave our personal time a mystery as it wasn't the rest of the world's business how close…or not close he and I are. She had a good point. It would look odd for me to publicly state that Erik and I weren't doing anything. The most anyone had ever seen us do was hook arms and the time he kissed me on the forehead at the inaugural ball. Maybe they would think he was gay? Maybe they think he has a secret life on the side? …or maybe they think we know how to act appropriate in public then I whore myself out at his call?

There was no winning in public opinion. It was exactly what I had signed up for. Speculation. Insults. Underhandedness.

Sometimes I'd ask Meg what I was doing. She always has the best things to say like, "You're paying my rent!" or "You taking fate on its best offer." Still… I don't know. I still thought about Raoul often. I'm really trying to deal with his passing. Poor Raoul. He wanted to do so much and got cut so little and there I was sitting on top of the political chain. What would he think of all of this? What would have happened if he were still alive? Would Erik still have asked me to marry him?

Erik is in Egypt when we had our first argument over video chat. He told me he had gotten me gifts from all the different places I can't pronounce. I kept telling him to stop. I finally got angry at him the day after I got that mean tweet. I told him that people would never believe anything more than me being a whore unless he stopped buying so many things for me.

God he didn't like when I said that. He didn't like that at all. He started asking so many questions, terrible questions… "Do you think that's what I'm after? Sex? Goddammit, Christine! Did I defile you somehow? Do I really make you feel trapped? Is it not normal for a betrothed to want to give gifts? Was buying you a car for your safety too much? Return it! Give the money I give you to pay rent to some silly organization! I'm following through on my end of the bargain. I don't give a damn what you do with that payment so long as you follow through with what you promised me!"

I…started crying. Like…really crying. Right there on camera. In retrospect, he had every right to get angry, I mean, he had never treated me poorly. Sure, he was not always the kindest person out there and we do disagree on things sometimes, but I could see why he was upset that I implied what I did. I…assume he is a straight male who does have interest in sex. I imagine that if he wanted someone to sleep with it wouldn't be hard for him to find someone and pay them well if needed…Sort of…I don't know. I have seen him with a lot of people and he really isn't that nice…but he does have a lot of money. God I don't know!

Anyway! I started crying and shut my computer on him. He called me back, I turn off my phone. I cried some more and walked back to my own apartment. I turned my phone back on and called Meg. She said she was already on her way over to my apartment, but when I asked her why, she didn't answer and said she'd be at my place in twenty minutes. Twenty minutes later, she was silently syncing up to my wifi on her computer and who should be the first thing to pop up but Erik?!

I blushed, I was already embarrassed, and I wanted to really scream at Meg. I stood up and tried to make my way to the bedroom where I could shut my door, but Erik called out and I stopped. Long story short, Meg explained to Erik what had happened, Erik had calmed down and offered to get the man's account eliminated, and I managed to stop crying. At some point, Meg even left us alone to talk and Erik and I ended up talking for a while about what I should and shouldn't have to tolerate. He was very, well, almost trepidatious, in the ending conversation. He was cautious. He was actually really…nice.

Friday March 16th 2018. That will be the date of the wedding…my wedding…to Erik… I had less than a year for him to figure out that this is not a good idea beforehand. Sort of. I don't know. He's still very stuck on it. At least once a week he'll ask me if I'm still serious about everything. I am. Really, I'm not a flake.

I remember I was dealing with Etsy on finalizing the date and the venue. She still can't figure out what's wrong with me for only thinking to invite Meg and my foster mother from Baltimore to the wedding. "A nice girl like you needs to have friends, or at least make it look like you do." She told me. I said we could invite the National Orchestra, but was informed that they would be playing instead. She didn't like the idea of me inviting what was to be "the help." I told her I would think of some people through gritted teeth. Besides, I was sure Erik had people he is required to invite. His fake friends can fill the seats, that's fine with me.

I remember bringing up the suggestion of the venue to Erik. I was actually sort of nervous to do it. It was the first big step of moving our wedding forward that I had taken since I agreed to it. I hadn't told Etsy about it because I was afraid that she would insult me for the idea (as she often does). I told Erik that I thought it might be nice to get married in one of the rooms of the Library Of Congress.. Erik smiled. He really smiled and paused before saying anything. I felt a little uncomfortable until he nodded and told me he would tell Etsy to make the booking.

Erik and I spoke about my issues with the guest list. I kept telling him that if it were up to me it would be less than ten people. He said that there would be people to invite that required an invitation. I knew he had plenty of business connections that he would want to cater to. He sent me a list of these people and it wound up to be somewhere around two hundred people (four hundred with plus ones). It took a while for me to come to the word of how I felt, but when I did, I admitted that it made me nervous to have so many people watching me.

"Why would you be nervous?" He asked with a heartless expression on his face. "You don't have to concoct some long vow, just say you agree to the terms."

What that mean man had said on Twitter was still floating around my mind, "What if they say I'm not telling the truth on everything? What if people know this is a hoax?"

Through gritted teeth he seethed, "This is anything but a hoax and as soon as you agree to it in front as large a crowd I can care to gather, the better."

For a week or so, I didn't hear anything from Erik. I got an email from Doug the following day saying that he would be too busy to call for the remainder of their time in Qatar. Things were really quiet that week. I didn't have any shows to see that weekend and Meg was in New York. Erik's house seemed much larger and lonely without his calls. I had been over to feed and be friendly with Roach and Simba every day, but those were the first evenings made a fire for myself and ordered Chinese (picked up prior to my arrival of course). I have to admit his internet is much better than mine. I would sometimes make calls form his house anyway, but I would always leave afterwards. He was always keen to remind me of my minimal internet plan when our video chatting became slow.

I found the quilt he had lent me during the snow storm. It was just as warm and the fire was nice. Still…it's much quieter, emptier when he wasn't there. The air was sort of stale and there was no music to fill the silence. His home looms without him. Even though I'm still not sure how excited I could ever be about the music lessons, I found that without them to look forward to, there was not much else to plan towards. I didn't want to admit that my activities revolved around him or anything but…well I don't know.

Oh god. I realize it now. That was the first amount of time I remember actually missing him. I was missing him! That's why I was so sad and bored and on edge while I hoped to hear from him! Wow…who would have thought, huh? Certainly not me…

Erik called just when I was getting the feeling that staying at his house was no longer a welcome idea. He was surprised to see me at his house and I felt a little funny as I sat next to the fire with his quilt around me. Embarrassed, I remember trying to shrug the quilt off, but he stopped me saying, "You look as I like to remembering you." He paused, "I am glad you picked up my call, Christine. I imagine you do not relate, but my days grow very long without our lessons to share."

Instead of having a lesson that night, we just talked. For once, he started to let me in on some of the situations that were stressful to him. No serious details were given, of course. While I'm sure both his home internet and the internet he uses abroad is well protected, talking one-to-one in a private place is the only true place of relief…like his house, I suppose. Anyway, it was kind of nice to hear him talk. Sure, it made me feel a bit silly for my small problems with Etsy and such, but I sort of felt like I was helpful to him for once…. I'm…not sure why I should care, but still, it was a nice change.

As promised, Erik was back in June. The day before I was sure to remove any personal items I had brought to his house while I was staying the nights. While we never talked about it, I know he knew I was staying there. Maybe not all the time, but most of the time. Still, I didn't want to lead on and after having traveled so much of my life, I was quick to pick up after myself and put everything back in its place. Everything but the quilt. That I left on the bed in the minimalist guest room I had made mine.

When his plane touched down at JFK International Airport, I was expected to be there. It was already getting sticky and humid as spring was nearly skipped the month prior and D.C. went head first into muggy summer temperatures. Meg went with me to pick out a simple pale blue sun dress. She also did my hair and makeup that day and sent out a few Tweets letting the world know that I was "so excited to see a special someone today." Gosh she sends out all kinds of things….I hope that I lived up to those expectations that day. I don't know.

She had to take another story that morning so I was off to the airport on my own. Even with my sunglasses and sunhat, people were beginning to notice me on the Metro. One woman smiled and whispered, "I bet you've missed him." I smiled back. To be honest, I didn't know what I was feeling. No. I knew. I was nervous. I hadn't eaten breakfast and all the emptiness in my stomach seemed to be swirling around like a tornado and the once gentle rocking of the metro car only made it worse. My hands were sweaty. My feet were numb in my short heels. I had to start breathing slowly with my mouth - similar to my beginner breath support training - just to keep whatever wasn't filling my stomach down where it belonged.

Upon arrival at the station, I was able to slip past enough people with cameras and to the high security gate. From there, I was checked for weapons in private rather than in front of a line, and lead to a waiting area where I was offered coffee and breakfast. I turned it down of course. I didn't want to try and hold anything down when I was having such trouble already. The elite waiting area was mostly empty. To think people like Erik use such areas all the time! I just felt really small in there.

The plane arrived and I was escorted to the tarmac to greet him at the stairs. Oh, how sweaty my hands were and how shaky my stance was! Why was I so nervous? Well…I hadn't seen him in three months… Part of my mind was wondering if he had changed somehow. Like, I can't really explain how that might be, but I felt it. What was worse were all the clicks of cameras out there. No huge crowds, but I imagine that a twenty second clip might have been shown on the major news networks that the Vice President was back in the USA. Oh, but why did they have to take pictures of me too?

As the modest sized private jet parked and turned off the engine, I was sure that I could have been pushed over if I heard one more click of a camera. The stairs lowered and my breath caught. A moment. Another beat of time. Then there was Erik pulling himself out of the cabin and into the daylight, the sun shining off his white tell-tale mask. He looked over the crowd harshly until his eyes fell on me.

That smile. His smile. For days I couldn't stop seeing it. Paying no more attention to the press, he dove down the stairs and made his way up to me. I stepped forward and we both stopped only inches apart from one another. He continued to smile and I looked down feeling embarrassed by his look. His hand came to my cheek and cupped it very lightly as he encouraged me to look back up at him. "Hi," I said shyly.

"Hello, Christine," He responded.

The press was closing in, asking questions on this and that and holding out their microphones and digital voice recorders. Erik lowered his hand to encase mine as he addressed the crowd. "You all are aware of the press conference regarding my travels tomorrow morning at ten. I am certain many of your questions will be answered then." He turned back to me, then back to the crowd, "Now if you will excuse us, we have catching up to do."

The laughter from the group made me blush further, but he had already started to lead me towards his SUV where Darius was waiting to drive us. Surprisingly - or maybe I shouldn't have been so surprised - Erik took me straight back to my apartment. He told me he was on the phone all evening while flying across the Atlantic and intended on resting for the day. Otherwise, he didn't speak much in the car and didn't look much to me either. Something sank in my stomach at the thought that his reaction to me at the airport must have been for show…he's a good actor…I suck. But for some reason, I heard those camera's keep clicking.

That night, voice lessons continued as if they had never ended. I was expected at his house at eight-thirty and he was there to greet me at the door as if I didn't have a key. To be honest, I was glad he was there to open the door. I would have felt weird just walking in with him being there. If anything, singing with him in person was so much easier to do. There was no delay in the video and I didn't have to work with the prerecorded accompaniment that he would make for me prior to our chats. Even further, was the feeling that the music was producing for me. I was beginning to feel a craving for it.

I remember that when Dad was alive, I loved music. Music, traveling, and my dad's stories were all I needed to be full…but that was before he died. After he died, well, I never saw myself needing music again. It hurt too much…far too much. I can't explain it. So I was empty, really empty, but I was okay enough like that. It helped me survive after the crooked system of fostering children threw me out when I turned eighteen. Poor Mrs. Valery. If she had ever known I left her to live in an old car she would never forgive herself. But I knew that I would be too much of a burden on her without some money to provide for me from the government.

Anyway, this craving I mentioned. See, I don't think you can know what you want until you've had it, then lost it, then have to get it back. That's what it's like with singing. I once was full of music and light. Then I was starved. But now I have the taste again and the knack to get that feeling of fullness back. And in those moments of sustained notes, where everything seems to sync up and I don't feel burdened by the sadness of the past, I feel okay, really okay. I guess it was for this reason that I didn't realize the lesson had lasted until midnight.

Erik was the one to admit that he had lost track of the time. I shrugged and told him I would head back home.

"Do you not like it here?" he asked suddenly. For a moment, I saw him as I did when he got of the plane. Instead of searching a crowd, he was searching my eyes, trying to find just what he was looking for. I looked away, but before I could answer he whispered, "Do you not like it here when I am here." It wasn't a question. Even quieter he said, "I saw the quilt out in the spare bedroom. You have stayed here, yes?"

I nodded.

"But you will not stay now."

I stumbled on my words, "I… I don't know. It's just not my home."

"It may as well be," he said quickly, "You have your own room and bathroom, plenty of space to yourself, far more than in that studio. I've given you whatever food you wanted. Is there something that I missed?"

The world seemed to spin around me as I shook my head and told him no.

He looked out past me and towards the window. "Perhaps if there were stars out…" he said in a sing-song like chant. "I could take you somewhere that the stars can be seen. You would like that?"

I nodded. He was acting, well, sort of desperate for some reason. I asked him if something was wrong. That was the first time he had ever mentioned a serious threat made against his life. In brief words, he mentioned that while negotiations had gone well enough on his trip, there were groups in the country that were making serious threats against himself and Walker. "I am not keen on letting you go far from me, Christine. When I told you I would be resting today, it was far from the truth. There were…issues that needed to be attended to. But Christine," he took my hand in his quickly, "My home is safer. For you. I can protect you here. I do not intend on leaving you for so long as I just have. I will not."

My feet moved back, "Am I…?" I couldn't finish my question. This was not part of the deal! Or was it? Oh god! I should have through things through! This wasn't just a wedding and a marriage, this was a very dangerous position just by associations! He shook his head and assured me that no threats had been made against me specifically, but he intended to give me security officials.

He seemed to ready my mind, "What you need to consider is that we have both been playing our parts rather well to the public. If you were to back out, I doubt if anyone would be convinced. The nation, perhaps the world, love you, Christine. I…" he faded off and for a moment, just a brief moment I thought…but no. "I cannot lose you now." He said quickly. "There would be no point. Our lives are too intertwined."

My anxiety was picking up and terrible situations were beginning to play in my head. What could happen to me? Death? Pain? What mattered to me? Meg. She mattered. And everyone knew it. Shelter mattered, too. And now, I guess, Erik mattered enough. Yes, he did and he does. I know that much. I'm learning myself through music again. That is good enough. His voice stopped my head from taking flight with all the terror that was seizing it.

"You will stay, yes?" He pressed lightly. "You can be out before anyone sees you tomorrow. No one needs to know or think anything, just stay."

I looked to him and something in the back of his stare reminded me of someone pleading. No, that couldn't be Erik. Erik would never…or…would he? No… I looked away from him quickly and said, "I think I'll take red wine tonight."

Sleep came quickly once the wine set in and I did not want to fall asleep by a dead fireplace as I had some nights before. It was strange being at the top of the stares, him looking up after me before I closed the door between us. There was not so much to say. I had questions, sure, but sleeping would help. I trusted sleep to not hurt me so much. "Goodnight, Christine." He called after me before I shut the door. I nodded sheepishly and closed up the crack.

So from there, I was living with Erik. It was not a part of the agreement and I was even ashamed to tell Meg that I would actually choose to live with him. Somehow she guessed it. She is far too good at reading me. I know she could have given me crap, but instead she giggled and quickly changed the subject to the wedding. Erik and I fell into a light routine. At night, I would head to bed around eleven, sometimes earlier. From there, I would stay in the spare bedroom, not wanting him to see me in nightwear…The idea just felt weird, you know? In the mornings, I would be out just as the sun was peeking up over the houses. From there, my body guard, Clara, would always been between five and ten feet within range.

I have to say, I like her. Erik chose Etsy to get on my nerves, but Clara is nice. She is nice to talk to but also pleasant to be quiet with. She was a navel seal before retiring for being a private guard. And she never seems to be judgement of people even though she can read emotions very well. I haven't seen her fight anyone yet, but the way she carries her self would make you believe she could. Meg likes her too. And Etsy is terrified of her. It's funny.

My days were spent learning languages, trying to take walks in peace, reviewing opera's, and planning the wedding. Sometimes my dinners would be spent with Erik, sometimes not. Our lessons were always at the same time. Fewer and fewer things stayed at my apartment. Within a few weeks time, all of my summer outfits had been moved over, a few of my knick knacks that I had from traveling with Dad, and my makeup and hair supplies. I would even go back to his house during the day to do laundry before he got home or watched TV using his cable and internet.

My mind would often drift to the future. This would be what living in his house would be like. To be honest…it didn't seem so bad. He lived on a quieter street and the mattress was unused and soft. No, it wasn't my apartment, but I always had it to go back to if I needed it. The lease was on a month to month by then so I had the choice to keep renewing it…and I did. The month was there. I figured it didn't hurt to have it there. Things were starting to seem like they just might be okay…until they weren't.

* * *

 **Thanks so much for all of my favorites/followers/reviewers last chapter :) Today is going to be a long stressful work day (yes I work Saturdays) and I've caught some kind of cold, but I wanted to be sure to review before going to sleep. If you can spare a second to pass a kind thought my way, I'd be grateful as always.**

 **Not too many chapters left to Part II. Thanks for hoping on for the journey!**


	29. Chapter 28

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

In time, Erik said it might be better that I didn't keep any kind of daily routine. Up until that point, I had actually started to develop one. I started feeling bad asking Clara to pick up my latte every morning from Ebeneezer's and instead started to make use of Erik's coffee pot. Well, not really a coffee pot. He likes French Press, so I had to learn how that worked. Before I went out on walks or places about town, I had to check it with Clara first and she would then have to make a few calls and decide if there were the "right kind" of people there. You know, it's funny. I feel like we have this idea of what a thug looks like, but they weren't who she was looking for. I found myself free to walk in the poorer areas of the Northeast during the day without issue. Sometimes Meg would join me, sometimes I would put on head phones, and others I'd see if Clara would want to talk, however, she was never more than a few steps behind me. She has this ability to make you forget she's there, but whenever I think I need her, she's never far.

Erik started to communicate with me more throughout the day. It was simple things, texts or maybe a call at lunch. Nothing too expected or anything habitual. He would always want to check in, typically ask about Clara, and often times before we would end the conversation there would be a pause from him, followed by a whispered word of released anxiety, and finally he would end the conversation. As time passed, I noticed he was more on edge. I didn't want to ask why. I always assumed it was the same issue. I wondered if we were safe at his home for always or not. Some nights he would stare out of the window and when I walked up closer to him he would brush me away as if he didn't want anyone to be able to see me inside.

July Forth came around. The year before I had gone out with the masses with Meg to watch the fireworks. We watched them all the way from the Lincoln Memorial. No one noticed me then. Now, I doubt I'd be able to get anywhere. I don't think it's a typical thing for the significant other of the Vice President to be as recognizable as me. I don't think it's typical for them to get Buzzfeed and gossip column articles written about them either. Ugh. Why me? Meg mentioned fireworks again this year and that she would be going with someone she had just met on Tinder. I could never be as spontaneous as her! I wouldn't even know how!

I ended up having to ask Erik if he would be needing to do anything for the Forth. He told me that it would be best for both of us to be far away from Washington that week. I feel like my reply was really silly in hindsight. "Just the two of us?" I asked.

The look he gave me. Wow. I feel like I don't even need half of his face to tell me just what he's thinking now that I've spent so much time with him. His shown face appeared so strange and disgusted. He asked, "Anyone else you would like to suggest? You've been staying with me every night, what difference will it make if you stay with me here or somewhere else?"

I felt…embarrassed. There I was, concerned about staying a night with him somewhere, when I had been doing that for about a month at that point. So I changed the subject instead and asked him where he thought would be a good idea. Pennsylvania, but at the time, he wouldn't say anymore. I wonder how often he has to follow blind orders the way he expects me to? …Probably never…

Before we left, Meg said it would be a good idea to shoot a short video of the two of us wishing the country a happy Forth Of July. She gave me a script this time. At first, I was really annoyed, but after thinking about it, I was pretty grateful even if Erik didn't follow his script. I still remember it actually:

It was supposed to be something like, "Wishing you and your loved ones a happy Forth Of July!" and Erik was supposed to say something about fireworks and barbecue alone, but while we were filming he added some new information. It was more like:

"Christine Gallagher here!"

"Soon to be Underwood." Erik teased lightheartedly. Ugh. Why is he so good at acting like that? Damn politician liars. Needless to say, his improvising messed up my lines and I looked away, embarrassed.

"We wanted to wish you a happy Forth Of July, didn't we, Christine?"

"Yes, happy Forth Of July!" I said stupidly.

"And while we hope you and your family enjoy the best barbecue and fireworks this great nation can make, we'll be enjoying some of our country's more natural wonders by visiting its state parks."

"Really?" I asked honestly.

"I thought you would like to get out of the city for a while?"

I smiled genuinely, "I would. That would be nice."

Our eyes met and he whispered, "Good."

Breaking that contact, he looked back at the camera and got back to the script, "From our new family to yours" - this was where I joined in - "Happy Independence Day!"

Well, that video was a viral hit. I got a lot of tweets. Lots of hearts and XOXO stuff. I think there was a special hashtag on that too…um…something like #adorableforth or something. Then other people started posting videos with the same hashtag. Each video seem to have its own surprise in it. One had a woman announcing her pregnancy! I mean, I guess it was kind of sweet how everyone started to wish everyone else a happy holiday. I remember Meg clapping at the end of filming and basically swooning and said that it would be a hit. And it was. Funny though, immediately after, Erik stood up and nearly ran out of the room. Did I insult him or something? Looking back on the video, I just thought I looked bashful and stupid. He looked in love, but that's because he's a good actor, or liar…I don't know.

I found out we would be spending the week at Cherry Springs State Park. What's really neat is that they have little domes that can be rented out. We road past a group of them with people already set up in them, but in time we were far away from everything else. On special request, the motorcade of the Vice President first switched out their cars to less conspicuous ones, then sectioned off at different places on the dirt road until it was just us in a SUV with a jeep behind us. The woods were immense and seemed to stretch on forever and it was just beginning to get dark by the time the cars stopped and Erik informed me that we would be going on foot from there.

It didn't take long for for us to reach the rangers post where the remaining secret service, including Clara and Darius, would be spending their nights. We were given a walk-talkie and were told that there was a small cabin not more than a quarter of a mile up the trail. The rangers post was visible when the lanterns were on outside, but it was otherwise very secluded.

The cabin itself was very small, but very quaint and woodsy. It was made out of logs and matched very well with the forrest around it. I expect that from far away, one would need to be looking for it to see it without lights on. Inside, the interior was the same as the outside - logs held weather tight by clay. There was a studio set up with a humble kitchen, sofa, table, real fire place and what looked to be a new wall to divide the area from the bedroom. In the bedroom was a tiny area with a toilet and shower. The place reminded me of what one would expect from an off grid tiny home. Erik told me that the water was all collected from rain, the electrical wiring was all solar, and the toilet didn't have water, instead, it was an incinerator run by the solar panels. No waste is left after that.

"This used to be all studio style," He remarked as he touched the thin wall diving the living space from the bedroom, "But I had a wall put in."

I questioned why he would have a wall put in when we could have easily stayed somewhere else to save the trouble.

"It's a gift, Christine." He said quietly. I remember looking up, confused, "This is a safe home. If anything ever happens to me, this is where you will be taken. It used to belong to the park and was left in disrepair. In the last month I took undisclosed measures to have it livable again. It's yours now."

"I…" I stuttered, "I don't know what to say. You've given me so much."

He waved my comment off and mentioned something about there being pre-made food being kept cold in a nearby root cellar. In no time, we were sitting on logs in front of a fire outside as the dishes warmed. I wish I could say it was so rustic, but with the humble renovations of the house and the quality of food, it was nothing compared to hard living or camping I had ever heard of. After I changed into some lighter outerwear and he deserted his coat and tie, we stayed outside talking about nothing I remember now. It was pleasant enough, really, but even all of this was not the reason he had given me such a secluded gift.

Once the sun was behind the trees and the fire was the only light around, I started to get just cold enough to want to go in for a light jacket. Before I could, Erik stopped me and requested I follow him. I wasn't keen on leaving the safety of the house. The sounds of the summer night were switching from day to dark and it was so very dark. We made our way through the trees for a short time until the brush parted over a small field where the moon could shine into freely and without shadow.

"Go," he said softly. Confused, I walked towards the clearing until I was in the center. I looked around and saw nothing in front of me and when I looked back at him he laughed. "Poor Christine. Always looking down or just forward enough, but never looking up." I cocked my head and he raised his hand a little dramatically to the sky.

Oh. Oh the stars. Oh my, how can I ever describe the universes I could see from that clearing in that dark night? So many colors, and stars, and planets. I thought I had somehow seen them all when the power was off in D.C., but they were nothing like this. Nothing in comparison to the worlds and wonders I could see before me in that clearing.

When Erik finally approached me, I was so absorbed in what was beheld in my vision that once he was beside me, I nearly jumped straight off my feet.

"Do you like it here?" he whispered.

"How could I not?" I managed to reply.

"You may come here as often as you can. As I said, it is safe."

I turned to him, so very grateful for this getaway when I had felt so closed up in Washington, and replied, "Thank you. Thank you, so much."

There was one of those moments, like the night before he left in March, where we stood looking at each other for so long. As I looked up at him, the stars behind him seem to dazzle and glow. It was like not even being on earth anymore. We were not touching or anything, but we were so close. There was an energy that seemed to pass between us and I wanted to shiver, but couldn't move. Sometimes I feel like when I look into his eyes I can see something behind them that I can't understand, but it's enough to make me want to keep looking at them. I wonder sometimes if he thinks the same thing about me with the way he stares back.

What can being so close to someone like Erik mean? The last time I was so close to a man was with Raoul and he was always really good at letting me know exactly what he wanted. The first time we had kissed it had been sudden, but once our lips had touched, he was slow…but I knew he was interested in me. I never even really got a chance to be nervous with him. We would laugh so much too…when things were good, they were really good…But Erik, though? How would anyone ever know what he was really thinking? Did he want me to say something else? To shrink away instead of standing there like an idiot? I…I don't know.

Erik said my name and in doing so, my eyes fell to his lips as if trying to figure out how sound had escaped there. He seemed to get closer and I recalled his breath being mine for a small time. My eyes were fixed on his lips. For the most part, his lips appeared almost normal. I recalled there being swelling on his scared side, but it was not seen behind the mask. Why would I care anyway? No…I cared because he was so close and my eyes had fallen. My chin was already tilted from having been looking at him from our prior conversation and his was pointed down to me.

I know what feeling frozen is like. We stood there for sometime, simply in each others' space. Then I looked up to his eyes and saw a new complexity there, something more like pain. I called out his name, not sure if I was concerned or curious, and he stepped backwards and cleared his throat. He asked me if I wanted to stay out longer and I decided I did not. With that, he walked away quickly and I had to jog to keep up from being left in the clearing on my own.

We spent a week at Cherry Springs. During the days we would walk to different cliff sides and brooks. Occasionally, we would see people, but the secret service requested we keep our distance in order to keep the location of our hideout a secure. My hair was up in a baseball cap most days and he wore a nude colored mask. From afar, I can't imagine anyone would think twice of us. It was a chance to be somewhat normal again. That was the best part of all.

In the afternoons, Erik would often spend time at the nearest ranger post to check up on the outside world. He had to radio into a phone system in New York, then be transferred from there. I spent that time reading or napping. I was surprised at how tired the morning hikes would make me. I wondered if Erik ever felt the same or if he even slept at all in the evenings after I shut the bedroom door. Sometimes I would find Clara to visit with. She truly has been the best person to be stuck with. I can't imagine being stuck with someone like Etsy! Ugh!

The nights were the best. Erik and I would heat and eat our pre-made suppers over the fire. Apparently they came from all different places, but they were always very tasty. Once the sun had gone, he would put out the fire and we would walk to the clearing. I took to lying down in the grass and losing myself in the universe before me. At first, he would join me in the grass, but after only an hour of that he would return with a blanket from the log cabin. It was large enough for me to share it and I did. Our conversations drifted to the stars and he would tell me of the constellations and their stories. Sometimes the subject would drift to Greek philosophy and history. I would listen. When he talked of such things, it was nice to listen to.

The last evening we were there, it had been overcast and the rangers had told us there would be rain. Still I wanted to see the stars one more time and Erik did not fight me on it even as the wind began to pick up and the clouds were rolling in over the hills. Realizing that my life in the bubble of the capital would begin anew the following day, I started to feel nervous. Erik said he had not heard of any more threats, but it didn't matter to me. I wanted to stay under those stars for as long as I could. There was something about that peaceful existence with Erik where I weren't household names and faces, where we didn't have to worry about the government and whatever threats were out there. It was nice…I didn't want to go.

Light drops started to hit my face and Erik was trying to coerce me back to the cabin. I looked back to him and it was hard to see him without the moon and the stars so I said into the darkness, "I don't want to go." Suddenly tears were coming down my face and I wanted to feel foolish but couldn't. That week I felt such things I had not felt since Dad was alive and I was more whole. I half smiled into the darkness and said brokenly, "I think…I think I'm happy."

How pathetic must a person be to not know if they're truly happy or not? I'm not sure, but that's how I felt and I know he ought to know. The wind rushed in and I felt rain coming from behind me. It was surprisingly cold and I shivered. I felt him take my hand lightly, the hand with his ring on it, and I don't know if it was more him or me, but before I would blink any more tears back, my arms were around him and my head rested against his chest.

He didn't immediately respond as fully as I was, but it was not too long before his arms came around my back to hold me closer, his head falling to rest over mine. My breath was scattered and the rain was falling faster, but I was so worried that if we left things for the way they were that the feeling would disappear. For a moment, I thought he would pull away, but when I refused to let go, he held me even tighter as if to shield me from the rain.

It was the clap of thunder that pulled him away. He took my left hand with him and we darted through the woods, jumping over brush, and landing in newly made puddles. Tearing the door of the cabin open, he tugged me inside and without bothering to turn on a lantern, I was in his arms again, just as I had been in the field. Rain began to pour onto the metal roof creating such a commotion that I couldn't hear anything else, not even my breathing or the pounding of heart.

As quickly as the storm had come, it had blown past and we were left standing there, soaking wet, in the doorway. My breathing had calmed and I could finally take note of the air that chilled my wet clothes. My thoughts began to return to the reality of the situation, that I was standing there in an off the grid cabin, completely drenched and in the arms of Erik Underwood…who is also my fiancé so it shouldn't have been so weird, but, but, no that was not okay! That was not what we did! This was a business agreement and that was all! Why was he holding me so tight? And…and why was I doing the same?

I tensed and backed away from him as if he had shocked me. Words fell out of my mouth and he appeared just as stunned. He told me he would build a fire for our clothes and I nodded before running back to the bedroom to catch my breath. Tearing off my clothes I began to look through my suitcase to find something to wear other than my night clothes. I guess you could say I hadn't been expecting to be exploring so much nature the entire week and had already dirtied up all my clothes. I had a nice dress that I was going to wear back into Washington the following day, but it was too nice to put on in the state I was in. I could hear Erik building the fire on the other side of the wall and the idea of warmth was very alluring. But how could I face him in an old pair of drawstring running shorts and a camisole?

Building up my courage out of need of being warm and dry again, I tapped on the door and asked very timidly if he could spare a light jacket or shirt for me. The question seemed to baffle him, but he did so without comment and slipped a button up shirt through the small crack in the door that I had created. It must have been the shirt he had been planning to wear the next day and I felt guilty for taking it. It had no smell to it, no wrinkles, and was a very thin but sturdy cotton made for hot summers.

My shivers finally brought me out of the bedroom where I found Erik on the sofa looking at the fire. Before sitting down I placed my soggy clothes next to his over a metal rod near the flames. I stood there awkwardly before admitting I felt bad for asking for his clothes, but all of mine were dirty and I was cold. His reply was moving a pillow from the sofa so I could have room to sit down beside him.

Eventually, after a long time of us not looking to each other and instead to the hungry flames, he spoke lowly, "Did I misunderstand you in the clearing?"

I looked to him, startled and asked what he meant.

"You ran from me as if I had hurt you once the rain stopped…Did I misunderstand your…your…"

He couldn't seem to describe our physical embrace and I didn't want him to either. I answered quickly, "No."

"Oh," he said to himself.

"I was being honest…when I said that I was happy." I admitted. "I kind of like it when things can just be simple…with us I mean…Is that…is that okay?"

"Yes, okay."

I started to fumble with my words, "I can give you your shirt back. I'm sorry, I was just cold and I don't want to ruin it. But I'm warm enough now so I can go-"

"Don't." He reached out for my wrist before I could get up. He cleared his throat and continued, "Don't worry about the shirt. If you want to stay, then stay."

"Thanks," I mumbled.

He hadn't let go of my wrist and I wasn't sure if I wanted him to. We were like statues on that sofa, not wanting to move to quickly or say the wrong thing.

"I think I'm happy too," he said into the flames, so quietly I thought I had made it up. Noticing he still had my wrist in his hand, he let it go and replaced his hands in his lap. "You have been so kind to me this week," he added, "I am not accustomed to having someone displaying such kindness to me."

"I think it's because I've really enjoyed being out here….You've been kind to me too."

"Then…I will ask a final courtesy of you this week. Stay out here with me a bit longer? I do not look forward to leaving here either."

"I guess I can, that's fine."

There was not so much more to say that night. Erik got up to check on the status of the clothes every so often. It didn't take long for me to curl up on my side of the sofa. At some point, he had stretched his arm around the back of the piece of furniture. I did not see him draw closer, but once I had my eyes heavy and closed for sometime, I thought I felt light, shy, relaxing tugs on the tips of my hair. It made me sigh in my near sleep and unwind just a bit more.

When my head fell closer to his shoulder he did not shrug it off. Instead, he stayed very still and continued to run fingers through my drying hair. He was humming something too. I wasn't sure what the tune was. His voice was so soft, so lulling and nice. Part of me fought to stay awake just to keep hearing it, but sleep overtook me in no time at all.

I guess I should also note that I woke up in the bed, a light sheet placed over me. For the life of me, I can't remember walking there myself. I can only conclude he carried me.

* * *

 **So yeah, this is one of my favorite chapters :) I hope you liked it too. Fun fact: Cherry Springs has some of the best start gazing in the Northeast USA. I haven't been myself, but I know they do rent out domes that people can spend the night in to watch the stars. I'd like to do that one day :)**

 **Thanks for the love and support last week via reviews & favs. This week was better. Alas, the stress of the small business owner never really ends. **


	30. Chapter 29

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

Dear Diary,

July in the capital was rather quiet. The summer heat had become so intense that I no longer wanted to walk as much as I used to. This allowed me far more time to plan the wedding. If anything, at least it's all being taken care of. The sooner that happens, the sooner I don't have to deal with Etsy and her condescending remarks. Erik was smart on her. All her ideas are things that I hate so it actually makes me think what I would really want. As far as I know, she's following through with the plans I've come up with in spite of her.

Some days Erik would leave work very early. He would find me at his house or call me there. Once we were both in the same place, he would continue his work from home without explanation of why he left or why I needed to stay with him. Sometimes I thought I saw worry in his eyes when he got to the house first while I was out. Still, he never said anything specific. I was always being left to my own thoughts.

I was making strides in my lessons. It was incredible to think that when we first started it took me a week to gather my breathing structure again. Then another week to focus on two different notes rather than one alone. Now we work on a new song every day. It is my responsibility to learn the song in the morning, to research its story, origin, and composer, and have it ready that evening to be sculpted. In time I moved from lullabies, to ballads, to Golden Age musicals, and only recently, opera.

As opera is the most difficult, I started to hear Erik's voice more and more as he many times would need to demonstrate singing a line or proper pronunciation. My knowledge of German and French was growing thanks to the Duolingo app, but my pronunciation often suffered. Italian was next, but we weren't working on any Italian operas just yet. Anyway, I found myself more intrigued with his voice, sometimes zoning out to listen to it. It had never occurred to me to request my own songs (I didn't hold preference before), but as I heard his voice more and more in fragments, I eventually built up the courage to request a duet.

The idea seemed to baffle him. He asked why we would waste our time with his voice when it was meant to be focused on mine. I told him that it would be helpful to be able to listen and respond to someone as well as sing on my own. He weighed the idea in his head. The next day, an antique, but well polished baby grand piano sat in the Study and I found myself very interested in the way his hands moved effortlessly up and down the keys as he practiced the song we were to practice that evening. It was Mozart. The simple song between Pamina and Papageno in the Magic Flute. The idea of him playing Papageno was rather comical, but he said he chose the song as it would be easy, not entirely effective to his type.

Pamina's opening was short and light. Papageno's ought to have been as such, but…well…Erik's voice was distracting and when it was time for us to sing together, he abruptly stopped the song with a blaring, "Christine! Sing!" Then we were singing together…wow…we just matched. It's hard to describe really, but we fit together. As we continued, I became more distracted, nearly rushing, as I wanted to hear him again. The second time our voices joined together, he left the piano and and stared at me cynically. He started to reach out to me as he had at the beginning of our lessons to correct my posture. Before ever making contact with me I would move my shoulders back, or lift my chin. Something like that. How could he focus so much on me when he sounded the way he did when he sang?

By the next refrain he had picked up at the exact place we were in the song. As he seemed to stop correcting me, my voice grew as his did in confidence. The effect was turning to be more helpful than I thought it would be, but by the time the song had ended, I felt as if his voice had been teaching me throughout as he sang. It's…hard to describe. "You will need to become used to singing with me, Christine. My voice may seem rather distracting now, but as yours grows, it will be your voice that will be the distraction." He sighed and continued, "Let us start from the beginning and go slower this time. I can't have you getting into the habit of rushing your part."

After that night, we began to either start or review a new duet every day. He was right. After a time, his voice, while beautiful and powerful as it was, became something I could look towards rather than completely losing myself to. I can't believe how strange all of this must sound, but his voice…it's something else. Once I told Meg that I was convinced if he introduced bills to the House in song that he would never have issues getting them passed. That same week I asked Erik if he ever used his voice to convince people to agree with what he wants at the capital.

"Every day," he replied, "There are so many simple-minded fools there waiting for something pretty or terrifying enough to tell them what to do. I am that source. Rather ghostly, isn't it?"

My face must have contorted and he questioned it.

"What about me?"

"Well I convinced you to take lessons with me in the first place, didn't I? However…" he smiled a little to himself then, "You have grown smart to my old tricks."

I huffed and spat, "Good!"

He laughed.

Just when I thought the threats had died down, a video was released to the public at 10:30AM on every major news network. My memorization has grown since learning new songs daily. I only had to watch it once for it to be forever ingrained in my head.

"Good morning. Our organization will remain nameless for now. The Unite States has failed us. Our women are unprotected. Our children are taught lies in school. Our daily rights are threatened. After a rigged election, Richard Walker further betrayed us in choosing a Vice President who never received votes. We see it necessary that the only ones looking out for our well being are not in power. We are making a public threat against the lives of President Walker and Vice President Underwood. We will give them a week to spare both their lives. They will probably be selfish and refuse to step down, so it is asked for this nation to speak out against their leadership and stand with us. If nothing is to happen within the week, we will take whatever measures necessary to follow through on our promise. Let the minor destruction following this video be our last warning."

There were pictures pulled up on the screen during the time and the voice was distorted. The last two pictures to come up appeared to be a quick picture of what I later found out was the mansion of the Walkers in their home state followed by my basement home in Washington. I was at at Erik's home at the time and just happened to have the Weather Channel on while I looked over a new song for that evening when I saw it. Just as it had ended and I saw a glimpse of my apartment, the video cut out and I heard a loud bang from hardly a mile away.

 _My house!_

I ran toward the door, but Clara met me before I could go outside. "Clara! My home! I need to go to my home!" I screamed. She held me back with a powerful force. She then pulled me to the ground and calmly and clearly whispered instructions into my ear. Something about how someone would be in to collect my things and the cats, but how I needed to be taken to another location. She shielded my back and I was led to the back corner of the Study where she strategically pulled a series of books in an uneven pattern. A crack opened up and I was pushed inside and told to go down the stairs. I pleaded for her to get my bag from upstairs. A photo of my father was in it along with a locket he had given me for my twelfth birthday. With my apartment likely having been destroyed with whatever loud bang I had just heard, I couldn't risk losing my last pieces of him that were in my bag.

At first, she told me no, but when I told her of what was inside, she shoved me behind the case, closed up the hatch and told me she would be back shortly. In no time at all, she had grabbed my bag, and had both cats in a carrier. I wanted to hug her when I saw her, but she slung my bag over my shoulders and pulled my elbow along down a narrow spiral staircase. We walked on for a little while through a narrow passageway lit only by motion detecting lights that come on and went in short amounts of time. At last, we stopped and I jumped when the tunnel rattled and shook.

"It's the Metro." She said quietly once the tremors stopped. "We're half way between Eastern Market and Potomac. We will wait here."

The sounds of Simba's cries rose up and I looked down to the carrier that was in Clara's hands. I asked her how long she thought we would be there and she said that her instructions were to wait there until she received word from Erik or Doug. She told me that this was always the plan incase anything happened and I was found at Erik's home. I hadn't been told out about because Erik didn't want me to worry. I know it wasn't full honesty on his part, but I'm glad I was left out of the plan. If it weren't for Clara, I would have run straight out the door and all the way to C Street….in hindsight, that would not have been smart…

More trains passed us and I realized my phone had been left at the house. Clara said it was better since I didn't have a secure signal. It wasn't like I would be able to reach anyone from down there anyway. I went into the carrier and tried to comfort the cats as much as I could think to do. I'm not much of a motherly figure, at least I don't think I am, so I don't know how much help I was to them. Still, it made me feel a little better that I could offer some comfort to something else as Clara was giving to me.

I'm not sure how long we were down there and I'm not sure how many trains passed. A muffled sound, like the scratching of a pipe was heard. There were a series of clicks, spaces, and dings. Clara was alert and listening. The sound then went away and she stood up. I asked her what it was and she told me of a system where someone could tap into different parts of metal from one of the Metro stations and send messages to one another. It was an old way of communication and she said it was a signal that it would be safe to go back to Erik's house. She said she wasn't sure if that would be the plan or if they would need to escape through the Metro tunnels. Apparently there were changes of clothes for us if we needed them to get lost in the crowds of tourists on our way around or out of the city.

Once back in the house, I was told Erik would be along shortly. While I waited, I turned the news back on. Reports flashed back between the White House, a voiced over video from that morning, a burning mansion that used to be the Walker's home, and lastly, my tiny abode. Flames were licking up form the basement in one shot. The next shot was live where firefighters were seen hosing water on the last of the smoke. I was thankful that the top two floors seemed salvageable. The house would need to be rebuilt, yes, but at least the owners could gather their belongings before they leave. I would not be so lucky. They later determined that it was something as simple as a pipe bomb soaked in gasoline that had been thrown in through the window. All easy materials to gather.

There wouldn't be much of my belongings to gather from there. Those fine dresses Erik had purchased for me. The gifts and dress that Raoul had given to me. A few things here and there from Meg and Mrs. Valery. All gone. I'm so thankful for carrying what's left of Dad with me now. I don't take the locket off anymore. The only salvageable items left in the house were the jewels Erik had gifted me. The flames hadn't gotten hot enough to melt the silver and gold that kept them together.

After hours of briefing, Erik and Doug were in the doorway. Once hearing the door shut, I tore myself from the news where the President was giving a press release and ran into the hallway. Doug was shaking his head about something and both men looked very tired. In seeing me, Erik froze and I did the same, some five feet separating us. Doug seemed to register some kind of timidity between us and bowed out into the Den with Clara. Darius was left outside. Erik and I were left.

We both spoke at once and had to stop. Each of us took a step forward and tried to read one another. Not much came of that until he held out his hand and I took it. He led me to the couch in the Study and began to tell me what was to happen. We were to stay in Washington and I was to stay at his house. From beyond us on the television, I could hear Walker saying he would not be threatened, that he, his family, and Erik and I were safe and would remain that way, and that the criminals would be caught.

"No matter what happens," Erik told me, "You will always be safe."

The week passed so very slowly. Some of the orchestra members also reached out and said they stood with us. Some of my old co-workers who were finding new jobs on the Hill also expressed their sympathies. Meg visited when she could and updated the Twitter to let everyone know that I was okay. People were overall kind to me that week. They said they were sorry for the loss of my home and I hoped I would stay strong. There were a few mean people too. People who said how I was a gold digger and probably planned it so I wouldn't have to live "like the rest of them." Such things can really hurt. I wonder if people know how much such words can hurt when they say them?

Erik spent even more time at the house with me then. Even without there being a fire going, we found ourselves sitting in front of it it as if there were. As the end of the week was close, I asked him if he was afraid.

"Not for myself." He said simply, "They targeted you because they are positive of my weakness."

I looked down. I was a weakness?

"I thought…I thought I was just a tool for you to be Vice President…things weren't supposed to be like this. No one was supposed to care about me."

"This is my fault," he said, "No one should have paid any attention to you, you're right. But I started to pay attention, more attention I guess. And when I did, so did everyone else."

I asked him what he meant.

"How is it so clear to everyone else just how much you mean to me?"

My words left me…what was I supposed to say to that?

"I'm not asking for you to feel anything further than tolerance towards me," he continued, "But, despite my attempts to be rational with myself and keep such afflictions private, it has been noticed." My hands were wringing and my vision stay towards them until his hand came to cover and still them. "I swear to you that nothing will happen to you. And if that means that I need to stay alive to ensure that due to lack of trust in anyone else, I will stay alive. I am sorry, Christine. This was never my intent."

Not knowing what to say in response, I pulled away and quietly told him goodnight.

This will be my last entry on the time between the inauguration and Erik's becoming President. I was told this past week that the reason we were kept safe and Walker was not was simple. Erik chose very few, but highly qualified people to surround him. Walker went with quantity. There was a Brutus in his service time. They knew where he would be and at what time. A single square of glass in the Oval Office had been replaced from bullet proof glass to regular the night before. The recording had been removed and the job had apparently been done by one guard in workman's clothing. They said the sniper could have been half a mile away. The job was that simple.

The wind was up that day and it moved the bullet a few inches. It hit Walker in the side, but they couldn't stop the bleeding from the inside. All the while, both myself and Erik were in the same practice room we first met in. There were no events going on that day. It was a Monday. We arrived at different times. Myself by foot and with a hat on my head. Him within a box truck that pulled up to the stage door. The Kennedy Center was more than willing to let us stay there in secret from everywhere else. Only a small number of people knew we were ever there.

It was strange being in the place we had met in. I touched the keys of the piano and attempted old simple songs I had learned along my travels. Erik would sometimes sit with me and add further accompaniment. Doug delivered Chinese to us and the three of us, plus Darius and Clara all shared lunch. It was in the afternoon that I saw Erik's face lower, his hand went to his forehead, and he looked at me, the phone still in his hand.

"You need to be seen with me this day." Was all he said. "The motorcade will be in the parking garage shortly."

From there we were driven to Georgetown hospital. President Walker wasn't dead…yet.

 **END OF PART TWO**

* * *

 **Yep, that's the end of Part Two. Did I mention it was short?** **And I'll be the first to admit it was a choppy ride at times. I'm thinking I may even make a Part Three and Part Four...same length to the story overall, but it makes sense to me. Here's a question for you readers: would you rather wait until I'm finished with Part Three and have weekly updates (like what I've done with Part One and Two) or would you rather me post chapters every two to three weeks as I write them? Let me know and I'll do what you vocal readers want. Thanks again for the reviews/follows/favorites thus far. It hasn't yet been a year since I started uploading this story onto FF :P**


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